Nash and Sierra's Excellent Adventures!
by khaki knight
Summary: Three years after the Dunan Unification War, Nash Latkje’s clandestine work for Harmonia is only getting harder. Good thing he has a certain vampire on his side... Updates slow but still coming.
1. Nash's Night

**_Nash and Sierra's Excellent Adventures_  
**

_A piece filling in the gaps in the wonderful world of the **Suikoden** series, brought to you by your loyal khaki knight._

_Disclaimer: **Suikoden** and related characters, ideas, etc. are the legal property of Konami, yadda yadda yadda. This is a solely nonprofit endeavour, which, actually, is probably losing money, if anything. This disclaimer applies to the entire work. Insert more legal jargon here if it will keep me from facing a lawsuit. For great justice._

**xXx**_  
_

**I guess we'd call this Chapter One: Aren't They the Lovely Team?  
**

_Solar Year 463_

The moon hung low and bright in the sky, mocking any who would dare try to be sneaky on this night. It was in this unfortunate setting one Nash Latkje, lady's man and spy extraordinaire, found himself crawling through the underbrush of a desolate Southern Harmonia forest trying to do that very thing. To be sure, he was cursing nearly everything about the situation—the woods, the moon, his superiors, and a certain woman who would find this situation all too hilarious.

_It has been three years since the conclusion of the Dunan Unification War. _

Several branches snapped off to his right, and he threw himself flat against the ground. The noise proved itself not to be a guard nor even guard dog, but a small woodland creature who had foolishly wandered near Nash. Several curses later, Nash resumed his trek, spitting a few twigs out of his mouth.

_As a result of a deal struck between Lena Suphina and one Sasarai, the super spy Nash Latkje's fate is no longer in his own hands—he is honor bound to work for the Harmonian Bishop. Never one to back down from his word (or Lena's word, as the case may have been), Nash accepted his role as 'Special Bishop Envoy' with surprising aplomb._

The ground curved up to a small rise, up to which Nash quickly and quietly shimmied. Below the rise, in a surprisingly big valley, stretched a squat, gray compound—it looked like a formerly abandoned forest ranger station. _Formerly_, because Nash could make out several lit lanterns both inside and outside the central buildings. He reached into his traveling cloak for his spy glass.

_All things considered, Nash could have been off considerably worse. The work for Sasarai was no more difficult than his SFDF days… After two quiet years of service, however, a certain woman from his past appeared unannounced on his doorstep. _

_In the months since then…_

"You aren't handling this very well, you realize?" A quiet, soothing, yet forceful voice murmured from behind Nash's right ear.

Nash ground his teeth and fought the urge to fire back a pithy remark. He settled for a mildly irritated remark instead. "Yes, well, we can't _all _be infallible, now can we?" He settled forward again and peered into the spy glass toward the small compound.

"I'm just saying that if you had simply let _me_ go in, all of this would be over now." The voice had an aggravating amount of self-assurance, which made Nash want all the more to smash something. The voice continued, "But there's still time you know, it's not too late—I could just pop in there and—"

"_No_, no, absolutely _not_. _I _can handle this. The last thing I need is you popping around with bats and fangs and whatnot."

He finally glanced back over his shoulder to the speaker. "And will you _stop_ that?" he whispered fiercely, reaching a hand back and trying to force her hovering form to the ground. "The last thing I need is for them to see a floating, pale, withered up _old hag_ and for the one shining beacon to give away my position."

"_Watch it_, buster," Sierra Mikain warned, the soothing aspects of her voice vanishing in the space of seconds. She slowly allowed her self to float back down toward the ground, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

_Well, that's something of an improvement. A few months ago and she would have hit me, no questions_, Nash thought tiredly to himself.

Several seconds passed, then she resumed, "And I wouldn't _need _to float like that if _someone _wasn't hogging the spy glass, now would I?" Nash fought the urge to curse (for it would have been quite loud), instead calmly handing the spy glass over. Sierra stuck her nose in the air. "_That's _more like it." She peeked through the device.

Drumming his fingers on the dirt before him, Nash was lost in thought. "Three sentries patrolling the fences… and heaven knows how many are inside the buildings themselves…" he said absently, mostly to himself.

"Five, but only two are awake. The conscious ones seem to be right next to each other. If I had to guess, I'd say that they were playing poker." Sierra negligently held the spy glass out to Nash once again, again looking supremely self-satisfied.

He snatched his tool back. "I _have _told you how much I hate it when you cheat like that, right?" he asked.

She grinned like a child who had just gotten away with stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. "Oh yes. Multiple times. In fact, I think it was just last night, after we had finished—"

"Okay, yes, _I know_, thank you," he interrupted quickly, a light blush forming over the bridge of his nose. He said nothing for several seconds, then muttered something under his breath.

Sierra's features sharpened. "What was that, Latkje? I didn't quite catch it." Her crimson eyes promised much bloodshed if he gave the wrong answer.

"Nothing," he said crisply, "I was just muttering about this old rag of mine." He fingered his scarf for emphasis. Her eyes narrowed. She knew he was lying, and he _knew_ that she knew he was lying. _I always did like to live dangerously. _

"Yes, well, you'd better hope that was all." Sierra turned her attention back to the squat looking compound sitting before them.

A cricket chirped somewhere off the right. "So, why is it, _exactly_, that the government wants _you_ to break in there, Mr. Special Bishop Envoy? I assume that Harmonia's trained attack dogs could've handled it themselves."

"Hey, hey, some of those 'Harmonian dogs' are friends of mine," he protested. Her cold gaze spoke volumes about how much she cared. He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, the military brass is—" Nash suddenly broke off and turned his head to face her directly. "Since when did you care?" he demanded.

She sighed with almost too much emphasis. "Are you going to tell me your little story, or not?"

They stared at each other for a good several seconds, almost in a silent contest of wills. Finally Nash sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "The higher ups have decided that they can't risk the SFDF for such a high risk situation."

Sierra looked quite self-satisfied, her cheeks dimpling. "I thought so. So your government doesn't want the SFDF blundering in there and stabbing things to death, then?"

His eyes closed, Nash massaged the bridge of his nose. "Not…_exactly_."

But Sierra would have none of it—as far as she was concerned, she was dead to rights and knew it. "That's exactly what it is! Breaking things seems to be the only thing the SFDF is good for."

"If you're quite done insulting my old outfit, I'd like to get back on topic." His voice was low, as he tried to keep the annoyance from bleeding into his voice.

Sierra paused, acting as if she was weighing a very heavy decision. Finally, "Oh, very well, if you _must_…"

"As I was saying, regardless of the SFDF's methods—"

"—or lack thereof," Sierra broke in.

There was a pause, then Nash resumed, "My superiors don't think that it is wise send in a full unit. The tip they got about this group is a bit…_questionable_, and, if at all possible, they'd like to avoid an incident which would make them completely hostile."

"Oh, _now _I understand," Sierra countered, her voice sounding quite bemused, "Harmonia doesn't know if these fellows actually _are_ hostile, so they're going to send someone—you—in to find out. And they'd like for you do to it without notice—something any unit of the SFDF seems to be incapable of doing lately—so that these fellows aren't _pushed _into becoming hostile and belligerent. Does that sound about right?"

After a moment's consideration, Nash nodded. "Yeah, looks like you've got it now."

Sierra tapped her chin. "And so what has gotten Harmonia's skirts in a twist this time?"

Nash was about to answer but thought better of it, instead reaching into his traveling cloak. He rooted around in his pockets for a while, then finally withdrew a crumpled piece of paper. "Here. Read it for yourself."

Of all the reactions that Nash expected, laughter was not one of them—which was silly, Nash reflected, because Sierra seemed to think most things he was involved in were laughable. "Oh, you mortals are so _silly _sometimes! All this subterfuge and fuss because of a crumpled piece of paper?"

Nash scowled. "Hey, _I_ don't make the policy decisions, I just carry out my orders from the Bishops."

"But Nash, dear, there's nothing credible at all about this little note."

Nash shook his head. "No, no, there_ is_," he insisted. Even as he rallied to defend his mission, inwardly Nash knew that the argument was already lost. _As vague and unreliable as always… At least this time there aren't supposed to be any true runes involved… Of course, the last time I got a mission about the true runes, I met…_

Folding her arms, Sierra cocked her head to one side. "What? What could possible validate any part of this silly little note?" she queried.

In Nash's defense, he _was _able to meet her gaze. He wasn't able to do much else, unfortunately. "Uh… that is…"

This led, directly, to several more peals of laughter from Sierra. "Oh, this is almost _too_ rich. Well, have fun on your little_ infiltration_, then."

"Well, all right, _maybe _I will!" he retorted. He stuffed his spy glass back its proper pouch, then grabbed the crumpled tip and shoved it in another pocket.

"Yes, yes, _do _go have your fun. But just remember to be careful, for if _anything_ were to happen to you,_ oh_, I just _don't_ know _what_ I'd do," she gushed melodramatically. She held her wrist to her forehead, in mock swoon.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever," Nash replied glibly. He began to crawl forward to begin his mission.

Nash didn't make it very far, however. "..._wait_." Sierra's voice seemed to be filled with iron.

She caught the sleeve of his traveling cloak, holding him in place with a vise grip. Nash's head snapped back to look at her, a mixture of irritation and confusion running through him. Her crimson eyes were deadly serious. "Nash, if you got hurt, I don't know what I would do." Gone was the melodrama and mock swoon. Her hand slowly found its way to his cheek, almost bashfully.

There was silence, and Nash found himself nodding. "I know." They held that pose for several long seconds, then Nash patted her hand and dove forward into the underbrush once again.

Sierra remained, unmoving for several heart beats. She finally let out her breath in a long whoosh, covering her face with a hand. "Heavens, I sound like a love-sick school girl. How _utterly_ pathetic."

She said the words without much conviction, for she had a sinking feeling she didn't really _feel _them—it was more like simply keeping form. _Why is everything involving that boy so damnable _complicated_ now…?_ The surrounding woods offered no answer (not that she was expecting any), so, using her vampiric powers, she faded into the night.

**xXx**

Nash managed to cover the ground between the ridge and the compound ahead at a much faster clip that he had previously managed. It wasn't due so much the warm feelings left over from the little façade dropping moment he had shared with Sierra as it was a prickly sensation of impending failure. Nash didn't know very much about the group who had holed themselves up in the former ranger station, but he did know they knew a thing or two about preparing a fortified position. Several yards from the low, squat walls, all underbrush around the complex had been burned away.

Executing an almost achingly perfect forward roll, Nash came to a stop next to the low wall. He was quite pleased with his hasty maneuvers (the next guard, by his reckoning, wasn't due past for another two minutes)…until he looked down at himself.

"Oh… dammit…!" he muttered in annoyance, making a few feeble attempts at dusting off the soot from his cloak and body suit. In the end, his efforts seemed to just be spreading the soot around rather than decreasing it by any appreciable amount. He gave up with a disgusted sigh, then hugged the wall and cautiously peeked over.

Nash would in the future, he realized at that moment, look back on this night and laugh and laugh at the comedy of errors it had turned into (this feeling would only become reinforced as the night ground on). Despite all of his careful observations, his plans had been mucked up by the unprofessional attitude of the guards. "You've got to be kidding me…" Nash muttered, as he vaguely felt a headache coming on.

Two of the three sentries were seated near the side entrance Nash had made plans to enter through. They seemed quite relaxed, passing a small flask back and forth and generally carrying on a cheerful conversation. Nash's initial panic faded after a few seconds, soon replaced with his natural composure, his mind already flittering through the implications and possible resolutions… _Main avenue of entrance is now questionable, no idea where the third sentry could be, and very few other options for an entry…_

Nash grunted. Though this definitely put a bit of a crimp in his plans, the one thing that could always be said about Nash was that he was prepared. He rooted around his many pockets, finally drawing out a rune scroll. Holding the small parchment upright between two fingers, Nash started to grin. "Nighty-night, boys."

There was a tiny flash of light, then a sweet smelling breeze flowed towards the errant guards. In short order, the two were fast asleep, and the scroll clenched in Nash's fingers began to dissolve. "Thank_ you_, Mr. Wind of Sleep," he intoned solemnly, nodding to the last dusty remains of the scroll he brushed from his fingers. Nash scanned down both sides of the narrow path between the wall and the compound and, confident the third sentry was no where in sight, hopped over.

Landing with a soft thump, Nash dropped to a knee and scanned his surroundings once again, a hand on the knife at his hip. Taking several steps forward in a crouched position, Nash moved to inspect the now snoring guards. _Hmm… No uniforms. _He fingered the weapons the two men were wearing. _These guys are packing some well made equipment… And well, well, well… most of it foreign. _Several short scenarios ran through his head (dissidents, foreign spies?) but there was nary enough evidence to support any of them.

He glanced towards the side door. _Well, one way to find out._ He dusted his hands, then slowly stood. Behind him, he heard a quick burst of flapping of wings…_leathery _wings. He glanced back towards the noise (conveniently near the hanging moon). _Her way of letting me know she's still around? _His mouth quirked into a smile._ She needn't worry, _he thought cheerfully, reaching for the door, _I'm in my _element

After a few moments struggling with the lock, however, Nash was beginning to seriously doubt his element. Normally, Nash was a self-described "mad hurricane of action" when dealing with locks that needed picking. This one, however… The lock was rusted over _and _an old design that Nash was unfamiliar with to boot. Nash hadn't had such a level of trouble since his early days...

Suffice to say, none of this was helping his headache. With a grunt of aggravation, Nash pounded a fist into his thigh. _Think, Nash,_ think_. Is there any other way around this lock…?_ After a quick visual check of the surrounding area, nothing promising turned up. In sheer frustration, Nash smacked the door knob with the bottom of his fist. There was a quiet clicking, then the door swung inward. Nash, without comment and after a quick look to his left and right to see if anyone had seen him, crept in.

Reasonable men would have been humbled by that situation, or really _any_ situation only resolved through sheer luck. Nash was not a "reasonable man" but rather more a "regular man." _Obviously, _Nash thought, fighting a grin_, Luck is just one of my many skills_.

His eye was caught by a mirror along the hall he traveled, at which he stopped and preened for several seconds. _Damn, I'm good, and I look good doing it. _His confidence restored, Nash carefully edged farther down the hall.

Passing two open doors (both leading to dirty looking bathroom facilities), Nash found himself at the end of the hall. He kneeled and peered carefully at the space between the bottom of the door and the floor. Light did leak from the crack, but not a great deal of it. Pressing his ear against the door, Nash held his breath and listened. Aside from his own heart beat, he heard nothing.

With a surprisingly gentle touch, Nash turned the handle, cracking the door open. The room beyond looked to be a sort of common dining room—three long tables and accompanying chairs arrayed in columns. The light was pouring in from a half open door on the far right of the rectangular room. A second door, a few meters away from the first on the same wall, was firmly closed. From what he could tell, a matching door on the opposite side of the room led to the barracks. Nash advanced.

He edged toward the open door on the right, risking a quick peek around the corner. Two older looking men sat on either side of a battered looking card table, the green felt on the surface stained and thread-bare from years of abuse. The main entrance to the squat compound, locked and chained up, could be seen a little beyond them. One of the men sat with his back to Nash, his face impossible to see. The other man was no one that Nash recognized.

His good mood deflated a little: the men were indeed playing cards. _Well, _he thought, clinging to some shred of solace, _at least they aren't playing poker…_ Indeed, the men seemed to be engaged in a quite rowdy and involved game of "go fish." Nash wouldn't have been surprised to learn that they'd had a few drinks in them.

Nash backed away from the room, then slid along the wall towards the second door. _Well, Sierra said that only two were awake, and everyone else was clustered fast asleep in the barracks… _Feeling rather confident, Nash opened the second door and slipped in. Unbeknownst to him, as he stepped into the room, the door didn't quite latch behind him…

The room was a mess of paper work spread on several small desks, the only illumination provided by the moon hanging outside the window. On a desk butted right up against the window, Nash spied a faded looking map, detailing the topography of southern Harmonia, the eastern section of the Grasslands, and even a small section of the former Highland Kingdom. Several lines, seeming to designate potential army maneuvers, were chalked out in carefully added colored pencil, all slowly leading north, deeper into Harmonia proper.

_What are you guys planning here…? _ Nash quickly started grabbing up several of the papers, scanning over them. Most were listings of active troops and resources, and a very few seemed to be drafts of orders for a march against Harmonia. _Oh _hell_… I guess that tip _was_ right_. Nash glanced at the window, trying to gauge the time of night. _I need to report this as soon as possible… _He idly wondered if Dominguez was in earshot… _I _knew_ I was going to need him, but _no_, I _had_ to listen to Sierra…_

Something caught the corner of his eye—he turned his head to see the door defiantly open just seconds before someone barged through, a pair of sais at the ready. "Well, what do we have here? Somebody just wandering in from the cold…?" _I can see the report now… "Master spy Nash Latkje undone by faulty carpentry."_ _Just bloody perfect…_ He started to finish his turn, hoping to get some of his tools into play, but the man at the door tensed. "Ah, ah, ah—hands where I can see them, and no turning around." Nash, feeling completely idiotic, slowly lifted his two hands in the air.

The man advanced… which, ironically, was just what Nash was hoping for. Nash spun, slamming his forearm into the wrist of the armed man. Meeting the other sai with his belt knife, Nash swung a leg behind the armed man's and shoved. With a startled yelp, the man fell to the ground. Nash immediately rooted around for another Wind of Sleep scroll.

A cold dread began to settle in his stomach, however, even as he continued to frantically search the pockets of his traveling cloak. _No! How could I be out? Sierra said she'd restock my—_that was about as far as he got with the thought before the painfully obvious struck him. Sierra could be called a great many things. _Reliable_ was not usually on that list… nor, for that matter, were _patient_ or _trustworthy_... or _caring_, or _tender_, or...

With a weary sounding sigh, Nash cuffed the armed fellow with the butt of his knife. "Stay down, buddy," he advised quietly before diving out into the common area. The little scuffle in the side room had already alerted the other card player, and Nash could hear the man getting to his feet and shuffling towards the common area, calling out 'Ace?' in an altogether suspicious manner. Nash turned towards the side door he had entered through.

But luck was not on his side. As if his situation wasn't bad enough already, his escape route was suddenly cut off: the third sentry—a very dour looking man with an eye patch and a long mail coat—had apparently stumbled upon his two unconscious compatriots and decided something foul was afoot. Seeing the fleeing Nash, he quickly drew his blade.

Nash's mouth pressed into a thin line. With stealth and the element of surprise gone, Nash was decidedly _out _of his element. He jumped back, managing to dodge the sentry's first attack. With the determination that the only way out was through the fellow in front of him, Nash inverted his grip on his knife, and… the door behind the sentry exploded inward just as the other card player stormed into the room and turned up a nearby lantern.

There was a long pause.

"Nash?"

"_Wang_?"

The two stared at once another for what seemed like minutes, then, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Sierra and the third sentry, his sword firmly locked with one of her throwing knives, exchanged confused looks. Sensing the tension in the room quickly ebbing away, the two slowly lowered their weapons.

**xXx**

"A paper work error?" Nash asked, seemingly for the thirteenth time. It had long since become mostly rhetorical.

"How do you think the tip got to the brass of the SFDF?" Wang replied, still wiping tears form his eyes. Suffice to say, once properly appraised of the situation, he had found the entire ordeal profoundly humorous. "Our application for our yearly inter-unit get together must have just gotten placed in the wrong inbox." He broke into a toothy grin. "That's bureaucracy for you."

"And the sentries?"

Wang shrugged. "Junior members of the unit—they always get stuck with guard duty. Well, _mostly _junior members." Wang's eyes flicked to the third sentry, leaning against the wall near the side entrance's hall. Wang refocused on Nash. "You didn't recognize any of them because most of them are so new." Wang nodded sagely. "Guard duty while on vacation is time-honored way of hazing."

Nash nodded towards the small room where he had first met Ace. "And the maps and paperwork?"

"Those were just a bunch of hypotheticals for the best way to use the SFDF to stop any attempted invasions of the homeland."

At this, Sierra broke into a mocking grin. "Oh, and just what was the final result of _that _little discussion?"

At this Wang looked uncomfortable. "Uh… Well, the plan, uh…"

Ace, tenderly touching the rather large knot on his forehead, snorted. "Oh, come on. No point beating around the bush, Joker." He turned to look at Nash and Sierra, sitting across one of the dining tables from him. "Harass incoming forces with guerilla tactics, withdraw to the mountains surrounding Caleria, focus on derailing supply lines headed towards the front," he said in a dry and clinical tone, sounding for all the world as if he was reciting from a ponderous textbook.

"Oh, and, uh, _hope_," he concluded, sounding quite unimpressed. He apparently understood the futility of such maneuvers.

In Sierra's defense, she didn't burst out laughing… immediately… Once her laughing had subsided, "Oh, that has to be the funniest thing I've heard in a while…"

Nash turned to Wang. "Joker?" he mouthed silently. Wang rolled his eyes and shrugged. _Guess sometimes you've just got to let your old life go_… A few memories flashed in his mind, mostly of Crystal Valley. A grimace flashed on his face, but only for a brief second. No one noticed…except Sierra.

Nash blew out a puft of air, stirring his hair. "I wonder how I'm going to explain this to my superiors…."

Wang walked over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Ah, no worries. Send in your report tomorrow, and I'll send in one, too. We'll get this all straightened out." He leaned against the table. "And tonight," he said, tapping the table with a finger for emphasis, "you can use the officer's lounge to rest in."

Nash fingered the edge of his scarf meditatively. "Tomorrow, eh? Well, I am pretty tired. I'll hand it to you guys, infiltrating this little compound of yours wasn't all that easy." He paused, then turned to Sierra, seated next to him. "And what do you think?"

She looked bored, her arms crossed. "You can do whatever you want. _I'm _going to bed." As if to reinforce the point, Sierra yawned, delicately covering her mouth with a free hand.

Nash clapped his hands in false enthusiasm. "Fantastic," he said dryly, "I guess we're decided then." Both Nash and Sierra stood, Wang motioning for them to follow him.

It was only about then that Ace realized that he had a downright beauty across from him. In _his _defense, he was contending with a bit too much booze and a very large knot on his forehead. He stuck his hand out. "Now, wait, wait here a minute—I don't think I caught your name, miss," he said, dropping (or at least trying very hard to drop) into a suave tone.

Sierra took one side-long look back at Ace before moving to follow Nash. "No, you didn't." Nash and Joker fought a losing battle to keep the grins off their faces; Ace slid his extended hand back through his hair, letting out a low whistle.

As they passed through the door headed for the so-called officer's lounge, Sierra exchanged looks with third sentry. She lingered for a heartbeat, pointedly staring at his right hand. His eyebrow arched; she merely smirked back in a knowing manner.

**xXx**

The next morning, both reports were sent back to SFDF headquarters by way of Dominguez. After a few friendly parting shots by both parties ("Way to break into your own government forces, Nash!" "Way to go down in one hit, Ace!"), Nash and Sierra left the compound behind, aiming to reach Caleria by late evening the following day.

Nash, however, was still a bit disgruntled. "I don't think I've ever had a mission quite like that one," he stated flatly, his boots crunching undergrowth.

"Oh, and here I thought you had fun like this all the time."

Nash threw his hands up in the air. "Ugh. Don't get me started on how many things went wrong last night." It was about then that he remembered his rune scroll shortage. "It was made more complicated than it needed to be because _somebody_ forgot to replace all the Wind of Sleep scrolls from my last mission." He glared at her from the corner of his eye.

Sierra stuck her nose in the air. "You really should work on remember such things in the future, if they are so important to you." Nash hadn't expected Sierra to simply dismiss the complaint by pretending it had no grounding, but on some level he wasn't really surprised. Before he could fire off a retort, however, she continued. "Well, at least _I _was around to save your silly behind this time."

His eyes narrowed, the scrolls forgotten for a moment. "And here I thought you promised not to get involved."

"I made no such promise" she asserted indignantly. "I think that was just some of your wishful thinking again, boy."

"Boy, huh? I seem to recall being man enough for you a few nights ago."

"Oh, ho, ho, _now_ we're trying to be risqué, are we?" She meant for the tone to be mocking, but there was a hint of amusement in her words despite her best efforts.

Nash began to smirk. "Is it working?"

Sierra carefully folded her arms. "Not by a long shot." She began to walk faster. Nash, grinning, hurried to catch up.

**A/N:** See if you can catch the anachronism in this chapter!


	2. Sierra's Day

**Shall we move on then? To Chapter Two: Between Missions in Caleria**

Caleria, as a city, would never win any beauty contests. It was squat, cramped, _brown_, and teeming with people (not all of whom bathed on a regular basis…). The harsh truth fact that Caleria had never been intended _to be_ a city played a major hand in that. But sadly for "Fort" Caleria, traders from across southern Harmonia and neighboring countries had all decided one day to make it a major stop on their routes, almost guaranteeing a make-shift city would grow up in its walls.

Despite all this, it was still home, of a sort, to our two principals. It would seem to remain that way for the foreseeable future, as well—it apparently suited Bishop Sasarai for Nash to remain in Caleria (if he ever _really _needed Nash for major missions, he could always just summon him to Crystal Valley). In between high profile jobs, Sasarai seemed content to let Nash more or less continue on in his current role—on loan to the SFDF as another pair of eyes on the southern border.

The morning sun slowly poured along a space between two mountain peaks, providing a cool, soothing light that yet still promised heat onward towards midday. Said light filtered weakly thorough closed blinds, bathing the room our duo occupied in a pale glow. The distant sounds of the Caleria marketplace setting up for the day echoed lightly through the small flat. A particularly loud series of mallet blows finally broke through Nash's shell of sleep. His eyes fluttered open, and he ran a hand over his chin (_Need a shave…_).

Smacking his lips, he turned his head and glanced at the battered looking clock on his equally battered night stand. It was a touch early for his tastes (especially considering what time they had finally made it in last night), but he shrugged it off—he did want _some _free time before he had to report to SFDF central.

He turned onto his side, staring at Sierra. She had her back turned to him, snoring lightly. Without really thinking about it or meaning to, his arm extended and he lightly played with the hair at the nape of her neck…

…at which point she shoved him entirely out of bed. Twisting around and pulling close the sheets that went with him, he managed to work himself into a sitting position. His head was about even with the mattress, just high enough for him to still see her. "Right. I forgot—no tickling in the morning."

Sierra's arm was still extended. "And I suggest that you don't forget it."

Nash stood up, the sheets still wrapped around him. It hadn't exactly been the morning greeting he had been hoping for, but it was probably better this way, or at least that was how he rationalized it. He slowly shuffled his way to his closet.

As he got dressed, Sierra finally sat up, stretching and yawning. "Aren't we up early?" she asked, in a mocking tone.

"Well," Nash answered, "I _do_ have to make that report at central." He tugged on his shirt.

"Right," Sierra countered, "because _obviously_ someone stole your identity _and_ that annoying bird of yours to make a faulty report to them."

Nash rolled his eyes as he was pulling up his pants. "Yes, yes, I know, I know. 'Der, mortals are silly. Der, I know everything.'" For his efforts, Nash was rewarded with a slipper flung toward his head; he narrowly managed to dodge. "Touchy this morning, are we?" he inquired mildly.

Sierra's crimson glare was the only response she offered.

And so Nash continued to get ready in a peaceful (if slightly strained) silence. As he ducked into the bathroom, Sierra finally decided to change out of her night clothes…not that she did so with any great expediency. Nash emerged from the bath, toothbrush clenched in mouth. He made a move towards the kitchenette in the far corner, hesitated, realized he still had the toothbrush in his mouth, and returned to the bath in the space of a minute.

"Are you going to bother with breakfast?" she called languidly as she pulled on a stocking.

Nash waved off her concern as he came back into the room. He shrugged into his cloak. "I think I'll pass," he said as he peeked through the blinds. "Besides, I've got some scrolls to pick up this morning." He accompanied the phrase with a dirty sidelong look.

Sierra returned the look, completely unfazed. "Are you _still _going on about that? You really should try to move on," she advised. "Everything worked out in the end, didn't it?"

Nash grunted in way of an answer, strapping on his belt and knife. Sierra kicked her legs out in front of her, cradling her knees. She watched him as he finished getting ready—he didn't seem to notice. "How long do you think your superiors will keep you?" she asked, her tone guarded.

Nash stopped what he was doing (pausing mid-bootlace). "I don't rightly know… It really depends on how busy headquarters is today. I might be gone for awhile."

Sierra's expression did not change. "Ah," she murmured in what was to Nash an aggravatingly neutral tone.

Nash's eyes narrowed in a most devious manner. "So you'll just have to wait with bated breath for your man to make his glorious return!" He paused, expectantly. He was not disappointed as, mere heartbeats later, he was forced to nimbly duck his head once again. "And _there's_ the other slipper. Adieu, love!" He closed the door behind him with a flourish.

Silently fuming, Sierra remained unmoving on the bed, her stare boring holes in the front door. _That… man!_

She continued doing just that for the better part of fifteen minutes, her irritation locked in a bitter battle with (of all things!) amusement from their verbal little _tête-à-tête_. When she finally did stop glaring, it was only to wander over the bath to freshen up.

Emerging from the bath about an hour later (and feeling at least thirty years younger), Sierra dropped herself into an easy chair by the window. If a ghost from her past suddenly mentally tugged at her, she didn't notice it. Picking up a pulpy romance novel, she began to read.

**xXx**

Nash, meanwhile, purchased a snake frog salami sausage sandwich for breakfast—Sierra never _did_ understand his bizarre love for the local cuisine, especially the snake frog salami sausage. The last time he had attempted to bring some to the flat she had thrown him out… which was quite the thing to do, considering that it was_ Nash's_ billet. Shaking his head, he headed off towards the western side of town and the local rune scroll shop.

**xXx**

After an hour or two of overwrought plot twists and the third consecutive declaration of love on a single page, Sierra, with a snort of disgust, dropped the book to the floor. Marveling at what mortals considered 'entertainment' these days, she stalked over to the kitchenette. Reaching into an ice box, she withdrew two plump blood sausages.

It was true that strictly speaking she didn't _need _to eat, but, as she had discovered back in her days with the Orange Army, the right food was a rather nice supplement to the energy her rune provided (it hadn't hurt that Hai Yo had been one of the best chefs she had ever seen). She regarded one of the sausages, pieced on the end of a fork. Nash never _did _understand her appreciation of Highland delicacies, especially the always succulent blood sausage.

Dropping her plate rather carelessly in the sink, Sierra stood in the center of the small flat. She glanced briefly at the chair and discarded novel, crinkled her nose, then deftly moved for the door, pausing only long enough to collect her cloak and slip on her shoes.

Nash's flat was located on the eastern side of Caleria, sandwiched in with other residences. Many of them had a decidedly stop-gap and hasty feeling to them, though efforts were finally being made by the Caleria Chamber of Commerce to enhance and renovate the area. As a high mucky-muck due to his status as "Bishop Special Envoy", Nash had been lucky enough to be billeted in a recently renovated section of the district. Of course, Nash, being the _man_ that he was, just shrugged off the bit of luck. '_Any thing's better than the SFDF's barracks…' _he had answered evasively the one time Sierra had been foolish enough to comment about it.

Sierra closed the door behind her, quickly making her way lightly along the narrow staircase path leading toward the central plaza of Caleria. Around her, the various apartments and residences were finally shrugging themselves awake, the windows pulled wide and the doors propped open, all trying to take advantage of the relative cool before the heat of the day fully set in.

Caleria, in the tiny residential district, was a bit like a maze. Sierra, however, had no problem navigating the tight alleyways. She exited out into Caleria's main square. The stalls at the marketplace had finished their set-up, pausing only for a brief mid-morning brunch before a hectic day of hawking their wares.

Sierra slipped past the marketplace, heading for the far side of the square. She climbed a short staircase, leading her to a small alcove. A comfortable bench in the shade… She would never admit it (not even to Nash!) but it was sometimes the simple pleasures that she craved most. She supposed it came from the long frugal years in the forest… She settled in, watching the growing crowd before her.

Only in the last few months had crowd watching struck Sierra's fancy. She never bothered to analyze it very closely—as far as she was concerned, she needed _something_ other than Nash and plot-hole ridden romance novels (the only type of novel it seemed like she could easily get a hold of in Caleria) to fill her days, and this option seemed less offensive than others. She supposed, if she really thought about it, despite the breath-taking frequency with which mortals displayed foolishness, close-mindedness, selfishness, and downright stupidity… _Wait,_ Sierra thought quickly, _what was my point?_

She hated to admit it, even to herself, but… watching the crowds of Caleria's market reminded her of something that she had lost, somewhere in the long years... Of course, any time she got that far in her thoughts—just as that moment—she'd snort and start thinking about something else, only dimly noting the crowd's vibrancy and ever-changing nature.

Something else made its presence known at about that time, too. Sierra sensed her little visitor before she saw her. "You might as well come out." When nothing happened, Sierra turned her gaze towards the position where she knew her visitor was hiding. "I know you shadow me every time I come to market."

For her part, the little girl started in surprise, her hiding place behind the pots and barrels near an alleyway neatly compromised. "I—I—I didn't mean anything! Honest!"

Sierra studied the girl through half-lidded eyes. She looked to be a native Calerian, a cream colored sleeveless robe offset by her brown skin and blue headpiece. Her bright eyes were wide—she wasn't scared… exactly. Sierra calmly crossed her legs. "Well, I can imagine that this bench is a lot more comfortable than that alley or those barrels." She pointedly glanced at a spot beside her.

The girl stood unmoving for several seconds, her mouth working silently. She then abruptly dashed forward and nearly vaulted into position next Sierra. She kept her gaze straight forward—facing the marketplace—though her eyes strayed over to Sierra every few seconds.

"And just what is your name, little one?" Sierra asked after several minutes of silence.

"Uh… Uhm… Feena."

_You do realize, _a voice murmured quietly in her mind, _that even a few months ago you would have shooed this little girl away. _Sierra nodded gravely, half to herself and half to little Feena. "Well, then, Feena, I am Sierra." She paused, still watching the girl do her best not to stare. "Feena, tell me: Would you like to hear a story?" Feena nodded vigorously, now openly staring at Sierra. "Very well." Sierra calmly smoothed her skirts and cloak. "This is a story," she began, "about a beautiful princess and her knight in shining armor…"

**xXx**

At approximately the same time, Nash was finally waved into SFDF central by a bored looking secretary. He expected to be directed to a debriefing with a superior officer—although he technically no longer reported to the SFDF brass, they were the only Harmonian officials in the local area. Sasarai could hardly be expected to come to Caleria for every little thing, now could he?

However, as of late, the SFDF seemed to exist solely to spite his best hopes: Nash was not directed to a debriefing room. Instead, he was diverted to a waiting room. He was most displeased.

**xXx**

"And that is how the princess saved her slow-witted, fool-hearty and altogether reckless knight from the scary man with the eye patch. After, the lovely maiden, having defeated the man with the eye patch, learned his secret."

Feena, her eyes quite wide, seemed to hang onto Sierra's every word. "What was his secret?" she chirped, completely caught up in the story.

"The man with the eye patch had embedded in his right hand a—" Sierra paused, catching herself.

_I don't think that he would be very pleased with me passing out his secret everywhere…even if it _is _just a little girl. _

Feena noticed this abnormal pause. She, bless her little heart, thought it had been something she had done. Worriedly, she lightly tugged on Sierra's sleeve. "Miss Sierra…?"

Sierra shook herself, then looked down to Feena. "That is, the man with the eye patch had a hook embedded where his right hand should have been," she responded without hesitation.

Feena's little hands leapt to her mouth. "You mean he was a… _pirate_?"

Actually, Sierra _hadn't _meant that (she just threw in the first thing she had thought of), but Feena's suggestion provided a convenient way to end the story. Admittedly, Sierra's improvisational skills were a bit rusty, but… "Yes," Sierra answered seriously, "but not just any pirate—he was the Pirate King Edgar."

Feena's gasp, Sierra reflected, was adorable…you know, _if _Sierra had still thought in such terms. "The legendary pirate Edgar chose to put his past behind him and seek an honest job. And in reflection of his skill and dedication to carrying out his job honestly, the altogether magnificent and stunningly beautiful princess chose to let him continue in his new chosen role."

Looking back towards the marketplace, Feena rocked forward and back. "That princess must've been so generous and kind to forgive someone like the Pirate King Edgar…"

Sierra smiled impishly. "Yes, I rather suppose she must've been at that…" That was about as close to preening as Sierra would get.

A woman, looking rather out of sorts, began calling Feena's name near the center of the marketplace square. Feena looked up quickly. "Oh… That's my mom." She quickly got up and started to run forward, but stopped and turned back to Sierra. "Some of my friends said that you were mean, but I _knew_ that you were a really nice lady!" She quickly dashed another few steps forward, turning back to wave enthusiastically. "Bye!"

Sierra weakly smiled back and raised a hand in response. Once Feena was out of sight, she sighed. "Great," she muttered to herself, "just a few months with that fool and I've become a part-time nanny." She rested her chin on her hand. "The problem is that I'm starting to rather like it…" A small voice inside began to mock her. She ruthlessly crushed it.

**xXx**

Nash was sitting in yet another waiting room, his teeth grinding out a slow melody.

**xXx**

While Sierra did find crowd watching quite enjoyable, there were limits to even it as an activity—specifically when the lull following lunch set in. By almost unanimous decision, most of Caleria seemed to retreat into their homes, planning to wait out the midday heat. The few stalls that bothered to remain open in the market were either well in the shade or had ample water on hand. A lazy feeling pervaded the entire city. Suffice to say, such a turn of events was not conducive to Sierra's little hobby.

She stood, feeling listless, and began to wander. While the heat didn't affect her as much as mortals, there was something to it; Sierra slipped off her blue cloak, holding it folded in her arms. The sleepy airs that had covered the town showed no sign of letting up as Sierra walked into the northern section of Caleria's central square. Even the children normally at play in the area had called a temporary truce.

Sierra sighed; it was always like this at midday. Her feet trudged onward. Before she realized it, she was standing in the smaller secluded square before SFDF central. Off to her left, two diehard bujitsu students continued to spar even in the heat, their master watching on and tapping a staff in a rhythmic pattern.

She regarded the imposing façade of SFDF central, cocking her head to one side; her rune augmented her senses, and she could feel that Nash was still buried deep within its recesses. He didn't seem to be moving (and could she sense a hint of irritation?) so it was all but certain that he was going to be a while yet. This left her disgruntled, and she loved/hated the fact that it did. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Behind her, the bujitsu master cried out in a loud voice…

…and Sierra suddenly dropped her right shoulder and dodged out of the way of an errant fist. It seemed that the bujitsu students had gotten a little _too _carried away with their regimen, escaping the confines of their small practice ring but too focused on one another to even care. They had wandered over to near where Sierra was standing and one fired off an extremely rash punch….

The elder of the two students—the one who _hadn't _thrown that punch—immediately bowed his head. "Oh! Miss! I'm terribly sorry about that!" He glanced over to his partner, who, despite having nearly hit Sierra, did not look apologetic at all but rather a bit…_sullen_. _Probably more irritated that both his sparring partner and I managed to dodge…_ she thought exasperatedly. The elder student elbowed the grumpy one hard.

"Ow!" The younger rubbed his affected ribs. After shooting a glare at his counter-part, the angry one turned his attention to Sierra. "Yeah," he said unenthusiastically, "sorry…" His sullenness briefly broke as he took the time to eye—_ogle_—Sierra.

_Oh, that was the _wrong _thing to do, buster… _Sierra regarded the two fighters with bored yet haughty eyes. The elder of the two met her gaze, mostly embarrassed. The other continued staring at her legs. "Hmph," she began, "are all Calerian fighters as unobservant as you?"

A tiny voice in her mind attempted to warn her that she was pushing the two young fighters too hard… but her annoyance at the SFDF's bureaucracy, Nash's absence, her own confusion, and the sullen fighter's blatant staring bled through and prevented that wise little voice from having any sort of deterrent effect.

"Hey, now we apologized, didn't we?" the sullen looking one–_A red head, _she noted mirthlessly— demanded.

"Perhaps if your apology had more _sincerity_ I would have taken greater pains to attempt to believe it," she snapped back.

That little remark apparently sent the sullen one across the line. He glared at Sierra for a very long time, then suddenly attempted to dash forward. Sierra dropped into a fighting crouch, but that turned out not to be necessary…

The elder of the two sparing partners held his over-exuberant compatriot back. "Hey, now, maybe you should think about this first!" his partner pleaded, his eyes continually flicking back to Sierra. _Well, at least that one has some sense about him…_

"Don't even bother—this rude bitch needs to learn a lesson or two about civility…" He cracked his knuckles in an overly dramatic display of bravado.

It took all of Sierra's willpower not to laugh in his face right there (for no doubt that only would have made things worse). The hypocrisy was just so blatant, and yet he was so honestly _serious_ about it…

She glanced towards the sky. She hadn't been expecting a fight, especially not at this time of day. Sierra would have been the first to admit that the sun did limit her powers somewhat. It was doubtful that she would be able to summon her loyal bats at that time of day, she could not fade and vanish into the night (obviously), and it would be next to impossible to summon a vision obscuring darkness. She _could_ transform herself into a bat but, realistically, that would only serve to incite a crowd with torches or pitchforks to come after her…

Added to that mess, she figured the Darkness rune embedded in her left hand would be overkill and the Blue Moon Rune was _completely_ out of the question. She let a puff of air escape her lips. All in all, it was hardly enough for her to even worry.

She draped her cloak on a near-by barrel and looked at the elder sparring partner. "No, no, I think this could be fun. Do let go of him." The elder man looked at her as if she was crazy, but a short reassuring hand motion finally convinced him.

The sullen fighter lunged at her with speed that almost would have been impressive had Sierra not been a vampire. As it was, she sidestepped, twisted, and planted her foot on his rear for good measure. He went down into the dirt.

With surprising durability, the fighter popped back up to his feet, dancing just beyond Sierra's effective range. He eyed her up and down (this time as a fighter), possibly realized that he was in over his head, but apparently decided his pride wouldn't let him back down. He led off with a left hook, a kick, then a right haymaker, then a roundhouse kick… _none_ of which managed to connect, except the roundhouse kick. And even then… "Are you quite finished?" Sierra asked, having blocked the kick with her forearm. The fighter kept his leg suspended against her arm for several seconds, as if in disbelief that she could block his attack so…easily. Her forearm, which had absorbed the blow, hadn't even moved an inch…

His leg fell to the ground and he took several steps back, his eyes narrowed. With a powerful roar, he launched forward once again, his fist extending out before him. Sierra sidestepped, wrapped her arm around his, took a step forward, and jerked his arm behind his back.

"_Now_ are you going to apologize?" she asked sweetly. He sniveled a bit, then started to apologize. Sierra shoved his arm in the wrong direction just a little bit harder. "Ah, ah, ah—with_ feeling_," she encouraged.

Once he was done apologizing for everything he had ever done (including beating someone up for lunch money when he was a kid), Sierra let go of his arm and the fellow dropped forward into the dirt. She calmly grabbed her shawl, placed it around her shoulders and smiled. "And let_ that_ be a lesson to you," she declared mildly before turning away.

As she stalked off, she heard the old master wallop the sullen one on the back of the head. "Fool! Always know your enemy before you strike!"

**xXx**

Nash had finally managed to make it to a debriefing room. Unfortunately, the officer in charge had apparently _not _read the report he filed. Nash inwardly sighed in a disgusted manner as his superior officer slowly picked through his report. "When we're done with this," the superior officer said as he chewed his mustache meditatively, "we'll talk about your new mission." Nash idly wondered if he could talk Sierra into busting in and 'rescuing' him. _Better not, _he thought tiredly, _or I'll never hear the end of it…_

**xXx**

Sierra tramped back to Nash's flat, deciding she had had enough action for one day. After a nice long bath (it was simply amazing how much dirt that sullen fighter had kicked up during their 'fight') she slipped into a clean blouse and skirt. Feeling ever-so-refreshed, she did what any sensible vampire would do: she took a nap.

**xXx**

The sun was setting over Caleria, and Nash couldn't be any happier to see it do so. His superiors, once properly apprised of the fiasco in the forest, had grilled him repeatedly. They still had difficulty believing_ they_ had screwed up and not Nash. He had realized _that_ the fourth time they asked if he was positive he had gotten to the correct compound. _Right_, he angrily countered in his mind, _because Southern Harmonia is just littered with abandoned compounds in the middle of valleys…_

He made his way slowly up the stairs, rubbing his neck. He fumbled with his keys when he reached his door, saw a lamp on inside, shrugged, and shoved the door open. "Hey, Sierra, I'm back!" he called.

Sierra yawned sleepily and sat up from where she had been curled on the bed. "How good of you to grace me with your presence."

Nash shrugged out of his cloak. He paused as he was about to drop it to the floor, however, staring at Sierra with a strange look in his eyes. "Did you spend the entire day in bed?" he asked, incredulous.

Suffice to say, Sierra was less than pleased—flying slippers would be the least of Nash's worries this time around. She finally settled after about an hour, but she refused to let him anywhere near the bed. Nash slumped down, fully clothed and defeated, on the couch.

As a final kicker, Sierra was so angry she never _did _tell him exactly what happened during her day. Nash had his suspicions though, especially the next time he and Sierra passed the bujitsu training center…

**xXx**

The next morning, Nash broke the news about his new mission to Sierra. All things considered, she took it a lot better than he thought she would. Yes, she was mildly irritated that the government was already sending him on another mission so soon after his infiltration, but it was a tired sort of irritated.

"That silly Bishop…!" she declared promptly, "So mistrustful and paranoid all the time—what is it this time? Does he need you to inspect an errant girl scout troop?"

Nash tilted his head to the side. "Nothing so glamorous I'm afraid. Bishop Sasarai wants me to… pick something up and get it to Crystal Valley." Nash could tell that Sierra found the mission parameters as he explained it exceedingly odd, but she apparently decided not to comment.

"Well, then. When do we leave?" she asked matter-of-factly.

Somewhere deep inside, Nash was touched—without question or hesitation she had volunteered to go with him—er, volunteered him to go with her… or something. Either way... _I guess she does care…_ Of course, he would never share that particular thought with Sierra because she would be liable to hit him for his trouble.

Furthermore, there were…_other_…considerations he had to keep in mind. "Hey, hey, you don't have to come if you don't want to…" he said in a soft voice. "This is going to be a pretty boring stuff. Just a trip down to the Dunan border before a quick shot up to Crystal Valley."

She shot him a belittling look. "You? Go by yourself? Hah. You simply aren't competent enough to do anything correct _without _me."

"Hey!" he protested, "I can do things!" It was only after the words had come out that Nash realized how utterly silly they were. Sierra stared at him in a condescending manner, then moved to a wardrobe, digging out her traveling bags.

It was pretty clear to Nash by that point that the argument was lost. _When Sierra puts her foot down… _Nash paused mid-thought, realized he never came up with a suitable conclusion to that statement. _Well, either way, she isn't going to budge an inch. This is just going to complicate the hell out of this mission…_ It was true that he liked a challenge, but this was stretching things just a bit _too far_ for even his liking.

About a week, it came to pass that Nash and Sierra were staying at the very tiny inn in the very tiny town of Sajah. An unlikely (and, in retrospect, utterly hilarious) coincidence led to a chance encounter. As such…

"M-Miss Sierra?"

Pause.

"…Klaus?"

A longer pause, then, "What are _you _doing here?"

**A/N: **Cliff hanger? Oh noez!


	3. Klaus Comes Back!

**Now we're making progress! Let us continue to Chapter Three: I wonder if this counts as a Love Triangle?**

But first, let us recap the events leading up to that most auspicious of encounters.

A week and a day before that encounter, the day when Nash explained part of his mission to Sierra, the two went about collecting supplies for the journey. The following morning, with a spring in their step, the two left Caleria headed for the Dunan border—specifically the town of Sajah.

Moving at a leisurely pace, the two followed a trade route east, butted up against the base of the mountains. The weather was mostly on their side, and the few incidents of rain were light and no cause for concern—the local woodlands that crisscrossed the trail provided more than enough shelter. Realistically, this leg of the journey was quite mundane (at least as mundane as these two get).

After a week, the rough travel brought the little town of Sajah into view. It was at this point where their little trip began to get interesting, so it is at this point where we will fully rejoin events. A light mist came down from the heavens. Under different circumstances, it might have been refreshing. At the moment, however, our two leads found it rather…irritating.

"Remind me again why we did not procure a carriage," Sierra murmured to Nash as the two trundled across the city limits.

"Hey," he snapped, "I'm not made of money! And Sasarai didn't include a free carriage ride in my budget for this mission" _yet, _Nash silently added, "so we walk!"

Sierra chose not to respond, but her reason for doing so (either annoyance with the entire situation or the strength of Nash's arguments) remained unclear. "…stupid rain…" he muttered, picking at his soggy cloak. It dropped back against his skin with a wet, smacking noise, but there was little he could do about it.

The two were silent once again as they reached the town proper. The buildings all had a stately, old look to them, nestled in between the trees. The building at the farthest edge had a chipped sign weakly proclaiming "inn"; Nash quickly shifted directions to head towards it. Sierra wrapped her cloak around herself tighter, eyeing the inn with a critical gaze. "Is this the place then?"

Nash grunted in the affirmative for an answer. Sierra sniffed, irritated by Nash's foul mood. _I hardly see why he must act like this right now. After all, didn't I deign to accompany him on this little trip?_ Feeling more troubled than she would like to admit, Sierra trailed after Nash into the inn.

The common room of the inn was nothing special, boasting a medium sized fireplace and a bar counter, behind which an ornery looking woman stared at the two new arrivals. "Can I help you?" she asked in a nasally voice.

Nash reached the counter, a hand digging through his pockets. "Yeah… I believe that you have a reservation, under the name Clovis." Sierra's eyebrow quirked at the use of Nash's favorite soubriquet, but she said nothing.

The innkeeper had, at the mention of a reservation, begun to reach down towards a file hidden behind the counter. At hearing the name Clovis, however, she stopped, her face twisting into a sour expression. "Ah. So you're the fellow…"

"Two days out in the bungalow, with payment in advance, all on the condition that no questions get asked. Bah. You types always coming around demanding secrecy…" she muttered as she turned and reached for the appropriate keys off the key rack.

"Bungalow? This is hardly the setting for something like that…" Sierra stated, as always, speaking her mind freely. She chose to ignore the subsequent glare from the innkeeper.

Nash attempted to salvage something of the situation, but he had a feeling any such effort was really a lost cause. "Please, ignore my companion here. So, if I could just get those keys…"

The innkeeper still looked hesitant (her eyes still trying to read Sierra), so Nash leaned forward and snatched the keys from her hand. "Thanks, then." He turned to head into the recesses of the inn, but realized he had a bit of a problem. "So… uh… Where exactly is the bungalow?" he asked.

**xXx**

"Is this what really passes for a bungalow in Dunan?" Sierra asked, her tone less than impressed. She gestured broadly to the tired looking cabin before her. "I hardly think that some fake thatch roofing and a few Island Nation art pieces qualifies something as a bungalow."

Nash readjusted the pack on his shoulder. "Well, Sajah _is _landlocked well awayfrom the Island Nations—I'd imagine that this is the best they could do."

Sierra sniffed again. "Well, whatever."

Nash unlocked the door, noting with distaste the stale air rushing out to meet him. _Apparently the bungalow isn't a popular tourist destination. _As he lifted his small bags, his eye caught another view of the town outside the door. _As if _Sajah _is a popular tourist destination… _

He was only a few steps into the room when Sierra, her nose high and clicking her tongue, rushed past him. She tossed her bags on the empty chair in the corner, marching towards the center of the room, her leg brushing the edge of the room's bed. "It smells like this room has been empty for months," she stated flatly.

"I was just thinking the same thing," Nash said quietly as he stepped in, closing the door behind him and leaning his bag against the bed.

Sierra took another critical look around the room, her eyes finally settling on the bed at her side. It had once been a regal four posted queen bed (frilly canopy included), made of a fine imported walnut. Unfortunately, it seemed that the decision to theme the 'bungalow' had not been kind to it—much of the walnut had been painted in garish streaks approximating island designs and the canopy had been covered with the same thatching from the roof.

"Well… at least the mattress still looks unmolested." Suddenly, a wicked glint entered her eyes.

"Nash," she began, kicking off her shoes, "don't you think," she continued, edging onto the bed, "that all our traveling has earned us a proper… _rest_?"

To nearly anyone else at any other time, it would have been painfully obvious what Sierra was getting at. Indeed, had Nash's mind not been altogether distracted and a million miles away, there is little doubt that he would have been in hearty agreement with Sierra's assessment.

As it was… His arms folded, he absently drummed his fingers, staring out one of the bungalow's windows. "No… not quite. I've got a few things that I need to take care of in town." He negligently glanced back towards Sierra, not even making eye contact. "I'll be back before sundown." He started for the door.

"Nash? Nash!?" It was the closest in four hundred years Sierra had come to squeaking in surprise. But Nash was through the door with nary a backwards glance or any other acknowledgement he had heard her.

Thatwas _it_, Sierra silently fumed—there was more to this mission than Nash was letting on. She had become suspicious from the restrained way Nash had been acting on the road, and this—_this_—confirmed it! It could have been anything—and she did mean _anything_—but it clearly had something to do with the secluded nature of Sajah, the bizarre parameters for this new mission (the so-called 'pick-up' was according to Nash 'officially scheduled' for tomorrow), Nash's seeming reluctance for her to go with him to begin with, and now his distance and absentmindedness…

A cold dread slithered through Sierra, one that left her profoundly uncomfortable. Why, she hadn't felt like this since Rean had… Sierra cradled her knees. _Nash… What are you hiding? _Her irritation and, yes, _jealousy_ fueled her building rage. _What could possibly be more interesting in this piddling little town than _me! she silently railed. After a few more moments of indignant outrage, Sierra made the decision to find out…

…right after a shower—she realized with a start that she was filthy! That would simply not do!

**xXx**

It was disheartening, Nash thought, that he suddenly had an overwhelming weariness towards all things cloak and dagger. Normally, the subterfuge and accompanying rush were his element, but the way this situation was playing itself out was rapidly killing any excitement he may have felt. He admitted to himself that he hated keeping things hidden from Sierra, and not just for the fact that when she found out everything there was a fair chance that she would, in fact, inflict grievous bodily harm on him.

These thoughts played through the back of his mind as he crossed the last 't's and dotted the last 'i's on a carriage rental form. He handed it to a clerk with a tired looking expression. "I think that's the last of it," Nash said wearily.

The clerk adjusted his ridiculous looking spectacles upon the tip of his nose and scanned the paperwork. "Ah, yes, that looks about right, Mr…." the clerk peered closer at the name upon the form, "Mr. Clovis. A carriage for three passengers on a one-way trip up through the Harmonian border all the way to Crystal Valley." The clerk let loose a low whistle. "Quite a trip."

Nash shrugged, sliding his wallet back into an inner pocket. "Hence the carriage."

The aged clerk chuckled quite dryly. "Quite right, quite right. Well, have a good day, young man."

Back out on the streets, Nash slowly strolled his way back towards the inn. _Well, at least I got that out of the way… _Realistically, Nash could have arranged for the carriage any time between then and the meeting… but he had a sinking feeling that when Sierra found out just what he was 'delivering' he was going to have his hands full enough.

Later Nash would reflect that he entered the rune shop more to put off his expected cold welcome at the bungalow rather than his ostensible purpose of procuring a water rune. How else could he explain the sudden change in opinion? You see, Nash and runes had never really worked all that well together. Most of the time he viewed rune use as much too flashy and showy, especially when simple equipment and the occasional rune scroll could get the same job done with less… effort. And don't even get him started on _true _runes!

However, a water rune, with its healing properties, did seem quite attractive to a spy who usually worked without any support or back-up. And since Nash had a feeling that he _really _didn't want to head back to the bungalow after blowing off Sierra like that, he had entered the rune shop before he knew it.

The shop was darkly lit, heavy curtains blocking the broad windows facing the street. The air was spiced with the hint of incense and dozens of candles cast a weak light which refracted from row upon row of rune crystals.

_Water rune, water rune… _ Never the one to just wait around, Nash quickly moved from row to row of crystals, searching out his watery prey. The shop seemed to mostly have wind and lightning (with the odd support crystal tossed in for good measure), so the search wasn't going very well.

After about five minutes, Nash chanced upon a water crystal tucked in behind two expensive looking sun beam crystals. He was carefully extracting it when…

"Tee, hee, hee. Can I help you?" a husky voice asked from behind him.

Nash hadn't noticed anyone get behind him, and as a result was quite startled, nearly dropping his newly acquired water crystal. "Garh?" he managed to choke out.

"Can I… help you?" the person repeated, a hand now lightly resting on his shoulder, fingers just brushing his collarbone.

This contact was unexpected (especially the part about the collar bone!), causing Nash to twist about wildly, his hip ramming into the table with its rune crystal display. Amid the sound of crystals shaking in their grooves, Nash tried to regain his composure. "No… er, well, I was just—" his sentence broke off as he finally got a good look at his eager helper. It was a face he quite recognized…though he was having a quite difficult time with the name… "It's… _you_," he blurted.

Jeane, the eternal enigma of both the Toran Liberation Army and the Dunan Orange Army (heavens knew how many more armies had been likewise perplexed), smiled alluringly. "Jeane," she supplied, followed by her twinkling laugh.

"Jeane," Nash repeated dimly, recognition from the failed defense of Greenhill finally striking. He then realized with a start that her hand had found its way back to his shoulder. He slipped out from under it, rapidly turning and coughing. "Ah, er, uh, no, I'm fine, thank you."

His eyes strayed for a moment to her clothing… at which point he snapped his eyes shut, rubbing them as if something had gotten in them. _Behave, boys, behave…_ He turned, angling to face towards what he presumed was the back of the store (the opposite direction from Jeane and her… '_dress_'). "I'm, uh, just looking," he said neutrally, vainly hoping that would end their little encounter.

"Really," Jeane asked as she sinuously slid into his field of vision, her hair bobbing, "because it looks like you found something." She slid her hand over Nash's, using her gloved finger to tap the water crystal.

Nash glared at his hand as if it were a traitor for still holding onto that damned water crystal. "Oh… well… yes, uh…" _Think, Nash, think!_ "Yeah, I uh, better speak to the rune master then…" The second that those words were out of his mouth, Nash knew he had said the exact _wrong _thing. _Oh hell! Dammit, her specialty _is _rune crystals, Nash—you_ knew_ that! What were you thinking!?_

Jeane laughed again, then, "But silly, _I'm _the rune mistress here…" She advanced another few steps, the distance between her and Nash quite uncomfortable (at least from Nash's point of view). Jeane adopted a lupine smile. "So, would you like to get that… _embedded_? Oh-ho-ho…" She began to slowly stroke the back of Nash's hand.

"I…. er…" Years of light-hearted flirting with women had given Nash much experience in dealing with the lady-types. Unfortunately, all his experience—just as before in Greenhill—fled him at the slow but sure advance of this mystery woman.

"That will be… 500 potch… if you don't mind…" she intoned solemnly. When Nash made no move to get out the money, Jeane seemed bemused. "Well then…" She laid a hand on Nash's shoulder, and it slowly trailed its way down his chest, lazily moving towards his belt. Her fingers slid under his cloak, reaching towards the pocket where his wallet dwelt. "..I guess _I _can get it…" she said, the twinkling laugh ringing in Nash's pounding ears…

…just as the door to the rune shop banged open. "Rune master! I have need of you! I'm looking for a man who may—"

Sierra _had_ been expecting to find Nash in the building, probably standing next to the town's rune master (in the middle of intense 'haggling' over the price of a rune crystal, judging by the scant distance between them). What she _hadn't _been expecting was a scantily clad rune _mistress_ with a hand rooting around under Nash's cloak, and Nash looking as if he'd been caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

A heartbeat passed. Nash finally realized that it was Sierra at the door; just like that the seeming spell that Jeane had enthralled him with was broken. He belatedly jumped back from Jeane, again ramming into the rune crystal display. "S-Sierra!" he shouted as the crystals rattled.

Sierra's expression remained neutral. Her gaze calmly flicked between Jeane and Nash, but she said nothing. Nash had been expecting an angry tirade but somehow found her eerie silence to be much worse. Without saying anything, Sierra turned and walked back out into the street. "Sierra!" Nash called. He started to charge after her, realized he still was holding the water crystal, turned, shoved it back at Jeane, then dashed out of the rune shop.

Jeane watched him go with a bemused expression on her face before turning back and dropping the water crystal in its place. "Oh well. And I was so sure that was a sale, too!"

**xXx**

Sierra was already ensconced in the bed when Nash finally made it back to the bungalow—he took it as some minor miracle that she hadn't locked him out completely. He considered making a bid for the bed, but the sheer aura of menace that enveloped him as he got too close told him to keep his distance. With a weary sigh, he dropped onto the couch butted up against the far wall.

The room was quiet for a few moments. Sierra had long since extinguished the lamps in the room, leaving the only the rapidly fading sunlight seeping in between the window blinds as illumination. Nash closed his eyes, folding his arms. "You probably don't have anything to say to me, right?" he asked. The answering silence did not disappoint him. "Good—because I have something I need to explain—

"You can save your explanations, Latkje." Her voice came cold and hard in the darkness; Nash winced. _Well..._, he thought at last, _maybe I can try again in the morning... _

**xXx**

The next morning there came a rapping at the door of their bungalow. The knocking was polite at first, but did get a bit more frenetic after about ten minutes. Nash, still clothed and still on the couch, groggily lifted his head up. "Huh…?" He cast around for his clock (which, unfortunately was on the other side of the room…back in Caleria).

It was about then that an impending sense of doom finally penetrated his sleepy shell. _Oh no… I slept in! And that means—!_

His morning, quite frankly, was shot. He could feel it. Nash had wanted to break the news about his 'package' to Sierra last night, but the whole mess with 'Ms. Jeane' had completely thrown him off. 'Last night' had rapidly become 'this morning,' but his sleeping in laid any chance of that to rest. He rubbed his face quickly, internally wishing that the knocking was suddenly stop and he could just go back to bed…

He quickly moved towards the door. There still was some hope, after all—perhaps that wasn't his package! He opened the door. _Damn, damn, damn, damn. _

**xXx**

Sierra became dimly aware of an intense knocking on the door. She was, however, in no mood to get up and answer it. She decided to let Nash do the grunt work for the morning—maybe after that she'd forgive him.

Nash did just as she thought, getting up and staggering over to the door. He seemed mildly resigned as he answered it, hurriedly saying something in an altogether frenetic manner before nearly slamming the door shut again. Sierra, with her senses still dulled by sleep, was unable to catch anything meaningful from the hurried exchange.

"Sierra, Sierra!" Nash said hurriedly from the foot of the bed.

In truth, Sierra had been unable to sleep for much of the previous night, and even then was awake. ...not that she was going to let Nash know _any _of it.

"Come on, Sierra, I need you to get up—this is serious!" He paused near the door, facing the bed. "I know you're just pretending to be asleep, and I know that you're probably still mad at me, but…" He trailed off, sounding frustrated.

Sierra, looking quite indignant, slowly sat up on the bed. From the expression on Nash's face, she could tell that he was quite serious (_His eyebrow twitches when he's lying…_ thought the sleepy Sierra), and…well…maybe she did feel a little bad about the previous night's antics…

She raised her hands in concession. "Fine, fine, but this had better be good…" She slipped into the previous day's clothes. From the tone of Nash's voice, she figured that it was something serious, probably demanding some modicum of décor. Then again, she reasoned, she _was_ still a little upset about the previous night…the only concession she was willing to make at that point was to slip on her shoes.

Nash scanned her quickly, running a hand through his own hair. "Well, I guess its going to have to be good enough…" He opened the door, ushering in his guest. "May I present a visiting dignitary from the Republic of Dun—" That was about as far as Nash got in the introductions before…

"M-Miss Sierra!?"

Pause.

"…Klaus?"

And so, once again…. "What are _you _doing here!?"

**xXx**

Silence reigned in the little would-be bungalow. Klaus and Sierra stared at each other intently, while Nash, feeling quite left out of the loop, gazed back and forth repeatedly. "I take it you two know each other?" he asked dazedly, a faint sense of panic and... something else slowly traveling up his spine.

Both of them were silent until Sierra shot Klaus an expectant look. He started, then meditatively rubbed the back of his forearm. "O-Oh, well, that is to say…" He coughed lightly (_Covering nervousness? _Nash thought), then, "That is, Miss Sierra and I are comrades of a sort. We both served with the Orange Army during the Unification War."

This little tidbit caught Nash off-guard, his eyebrow arching as he glanced at Sierra. _That's a new one on me. _Sierra, however, wasn't looking at Nash. With mischief in her eyes, she took a few steps toward Klaus. "Ah, now Klaus, was that all I was to you?" she…well…_purred_.

A light blush fought its way to Klaus' face, though he seemed determined not to show it. "Oh, Miss Sierra, you're not serious… Let us not call a horse a chicken, shall we?" he said, his voice sounding a touch unsteady.

_Call a horse a chicken? _Nash mouthed silently to himself. He coughed lightly, if only to hide his growing discomfort. "Well, if you two already know each other, then—" he began warily.

"I am a bit curious," Sierra rudely interrupted, "as to what has drawn you to Sajah, Klaus. And why, in particular, were you looking for _Nash_ of all people."

Klaus opened his mouth to answer, closed it with a smile, then started again. "President Wisemail—you remember Miss Teresa?" he asked. Sierra nodded and Klaus continued. "She has been attempting to normalize relations with Harmonia ever since the conclusion of the war. Progress has been slow, until recently, when Harmonia finally signaled a willingness to open formal diplomatic communications."

He shrugged. "President Wisemail wanted to come personally to open relations, but Shu managed to convince her that would be an unwise decision. So as acting Chancellor of Dunan and because of my familiarity with Crystal Valley, I volunteered to come myself."

Sierra cocked her head to one side. "If you want to open diplomatic relations, shouldn't you be meeting with an ambassador, then?"

A look of profound confusion crossed Klaus' face. "What do you mean? That's why I'm here—that's why Ambassador Clovis is—"

"_Ambassador_?" Sierra asked sharply, her eye brow quirking. "I could call Nash a lot of things, but _ambassador _is hardly—"

Nash shot his elbow into her side, a panicked expression on his face. His 'hint' had less of an effect that he had been hoping for, however. Her eyes narrowed. "You better have had a _very_ goodreason for doing that," Sierra growled in a low voice.

Nash plastered a smile on his face and turned to Klaus. "Please, Mr. Windamier, excuse us for a moment," he said in a sickly sweet tone of voice. He then attempted to guide Sierra to the bathroom (this was made difficult, for Sierra continuously whapped at Nash's hands and arms—she was in no mood to be led anywhere).

The bathroom, realistically, wasn't the _best _place to have a hushed conversation, but it was the only private space in the entire accommodation. Nash closed the door and turned to face Sierra…. At which point he nearly started to panic. "H-hey, quit looking at me like that!"

Sierra's dagger-filled gaze did not lift. "Explain. _Now_."

Faced with that sort of demand, Nash could do naught else but spill the entire sad tale. Sierra's expression became more and more displeased along the way. Finally, Nash having finished, Sierra blew out a puff of air. "So what you're telling me is that the Harmonian government wants you to spy on a diplomatic envoy that is coming in good faith to negotiate with them?"

Nash looked aggravated. "Not…_spy_…exactly! Just… _observe_, read his intentions," he grouped for another synonym, his hands working wildly in front of him, "get a feel for his negotiation style." Nash personally thought the entire idea was silly, but then again he felt that way about most missions the Harmonian government sent him on anyway.

Sierra maintained her cool expression. "That's like calling a thief a treasure hunter. Debating semantics is pointless. They've sent you to spy on a foreign national," she reiterated.

Nash sputtered for a few moments, unable to come up with any sort of rebuttal.

She crossed her arms, looking quite displeased. "And lying in such a manner to poor Klaus—really, that's a new low, even for you, Nash." She shook her head. "Impersonating an ambassador..."

Nash sighed dejectedly. "Well, there's not a lot _I_ can _do _about it—these _are_ direct orders from Bishop Sasarai." His expression suddenly hardened, as if he was challenging her to protest again.

Sierra eyed Nash for a long moment; she could tell that even her mighty powers of persuasion (read: yelling and kicking) would no longer have an effect. Whenever Nash was absolutely not going to back down, his jaw had a certain cant to it.

Upon realizing she had been with him long enough to catalog and recognize this trait at some point, she once again became irritated at her attachment to the boy. She threw her hands up in frustration. "Ugh, and that _Clovis_ pseudo-name again! You couldn't have picked something less guttural?" she asked exasperatedly.

"No," he replied without hesitation, "That's what Sasarai named me as in his correspondence with the Dunan government, and that's what I'm stuck as."

There was a pause. Nash folded his arms. "Listen. I know that this isn't exactly the most shining example of my morals, and I realize that the Harmonian government is being its paranoid, reactionist self, but—" he locked eyes with her, "But this is my mission, and I'm going to complete it to the best of my ability. I know that Klaus may be an old comrade," he paused for the briefest of seconds—_A pang of jealousy, Nashy-boy? _he asked himself, _No, no time now to_ _worry about that_—, "but I need your word that you won't interfere."

Sierra was quite grumpy with the entire situation and her expression reflected that. Scowling openly she nodded.

Inwardly, Nash was quite relieved that she was letting him off the hook without much more of a fight, though he didn't let it show. He nodded back. "Now, if we've got everything squared away, I think we've spent quite enough time in here." After a moment's pause, Sierra nodded absently.

The two exited the bath, finding Klaus staring out the window towards Sajah proper (such as it was). "Is everything all right?" he asked mildly, turning back to face them.

"Fine," they said in unison. Klaus watched as Nash glared at Sierra, who was wearing an impish smile directed at Klaus. He was most confused.


	4. Three on the Road

_We've advanced at last! Chapter Four_: _Three Characters in a Carriage_.

Nash decided that, on the whole, travel by coach was much more preferable than foot travel. Of course, he had only three days of evidence to back him up (and eleven more days waiting to test his theory), but still, for some mysterious reason, a long slogging walk through rain drenched Harmonian and Dunan forests had lost its appeal. _Fancy that_, Nash thought tiredly, drumming his fingers on one of the carriage's window sills.

This mission, he realized unhappily, was off to a most auspicious start. He had sworn Sierra to a non-interference pact, and for the most part she was doing her best to honor it. Sure, _occasionally _Sierra would get a little playful, and thus play hard and fast with the terms of their agreement.

For example, during the previous night's campfire, the topic of conversation had somehow turned to spy novels, which of course made Sierra very curious as to what Nash's position on espionage was. Nash was about to bite out a warning, but Sierra backed off of her own accord ("I rather dislike the idea of people spying on one another, but I guess its necessary what with the way the world works today," she had said quickly, in a placating manner). That was about as bad as she got, in fact (she took contracts, even verbal ones, very seriously. _Not surprising for a vampire, _Nash thought meditatively).

All in all, Sierra was on her best behaviour. _She _wasn't the problem; Klaus _was_. The boy had enough sense not to just dive in to political talk, Nash had to credit him with that. However, Nash was trained to get more info out of people than they were willing to share. He had no doubt that if situations had been different, he could have plied his craft yet again and gotten something useful.

Unfortunately, situations _weren't _different. With Sierra in the conversation as well, Klaus could just steer the conversation away from any traction Nash was making by asking her about anything (spy novels, for example), and she would, in the honest tradition of complete 'non-interference', indulge him.

So all in all, even though Sierra wasn't directly causing problems, she was still causing problems.

_Still, _he thought tiredly, _can't blame her… She's doing her best—if it were completely up to her, she'd have told Klaus everything and probably commandeered this carriage to get him back to Muse. _

And then, of course, there was the _other _problem. Sierra had always been something of a flirt. She had attempted to explain her reasoning once to Nash—_few men,_ she said, _know just what do to when a beautiful woman is strongly coming on to them, making the first moves. You see_, she said with infinite authority in her voice, _they (the men) like to be the initiators, the lion on the hunt. They run into a lioness on the hunt, and most back away slowly. In this manner,_ she asserted, supremely confident, _I keep the men who would do nothing but heap adulations on me—and thus bother me—at bay. _

_And what about me? _Nash couldn't help but asking.

She had lifted her nose, frowning. _Some men are too thick-headed for it to get through. The revelation that I'm a vampire usually does the trick in _those _cases. _She dropped her gaze to him again. _Of course, then there's _you.

Nash had always taken that hint of disgust in her voice with a touch of pride. Of course, that was before he had meet Klaus. Klaus both knew that Sierra was a vampire as well as a helpless flirt, and yet he still managed to make pleasant conversation with her (despite the fact that Nash had him pegged as an upper-class aristocratic sort). He never rose to any of Sierra's harmless flirtation sure, but it was more as if he could tell Sierra wasn't _really _serious, as if he could see past her (pardon the pun) 'vamp' façade.

The entire thing, Nash realized, was making him intolerably jealous. It shouldn't have. He and Sierra had been together for how long? It was at least a year (not counting their first meeting back before Rean's) and if there was one person in the world that Nash could depend on (outside of Wang and his SFDF knuckle-heads) it was her. Still though, not many men could work well in Sierra's presence. Apparently Klaus was one of them. And when you factored in the fact they knew each other (especially _after _Nash and Sierra met the first time) but Sierra had never bothered to mention Klaus in the intervening time...

It hadn't been helped, he decided, by Sierra's answer to the question Klaus had posed on their first day out. "Are you two together?" he asked, innocently.

Looking at the evidence, it was a bit hard to come to a conclusion otherwise. Specifically, the two of them had arrived together in Sajah, had been sharing the bungalow, and had left Sajah together. Even with this nigh insurmountable mountain of evidence, however, Sierra had managed to make a vague and altogether mysterious answer. "Not exactly," she said, her eyes impossible to read.

'Not exactly'? What the hell did that mean!? The very thought of it made Nash slink down in his carriage seat. _'Not exactly' together, indeed. _He scowled grumpily, glaring vaguely in Sierra's direction. _It's not that complicated of a question! _he silently railed. _You either are, or you aren't—there's no gray area! _No matter how he sliced it, though, Nash was left with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Maybe… _he thought worriedly, _maybe she really doesn't feel the same way as I do…? _He shifted on the uncomfortable carriage bench, resisting the urge to again look over towards her. _That whole Jeane thing probably hasn't helped matters… Maybe she thinks I'm losing interest? _His frown deepened. _Maybe she wants to use that as an excuse to bow out because _she's _losing interest? _

His frown turned sour. _Or maybe she's just more interested in Klaus and can use it as a pretext that way. _His frown returned to a simple grim line. _Maybe I'm over-thinking this… after all, if she _was _going to move on, why would she have come along on this little pleasure cruise up to Crystal Valley, or, for that matter, have agreed to not interfere in my mission? _His mood almost brightened… until he again thought of her answer to Klaus' question, and the entire mess started again. And without privacy for a discussion, there would be no real answers coming.

Such dark thoughts his companions, he stared gloomily out into the Harmonian countryside. All in all, Nash thought, coach rides were good for a lot of introspection.

**xXx**

Sierra could do without coach rides on the whole, she decided flatly. This mostly stemmed from her calm calculations that transforming into a bat and flying to her destination would be a much more efficient means of transportation. The only flaw was that under that system, of course, was that only _she _could do any traveling. So, unfortunately, there was the wagon carriage.

Her other problem with carriage rides was the amount of time one had to themselves to think. Civil conversation between passengers could only go on so long, leaving long stretches where all one could do was stare out the window and turn the same ideas over and over in one's head until madness began to nip at the edges of the mind (she had had enough of staring out of windows, thank you very much).

At that precise moment, for example, the image of Nash and that _damnable_ rune mistress so very close together ran over and over and over in her mind...

Had that really informed how she had acted around Klaus? She would never want to admit it, but she was actually _worried _that might have played a bigger role than she wanted to admit. When Klaus had inquired about the two of them, she had deferred, explaining that she and Nash 'weren't exactly' together.

Where had that come from? Yes, Sierra later tried to rationalize that she had been trying to... _protect _Klaus... That is to say, Nash had been out of 'high' society for many years, though that was clearly where he hailed from (that much was blindingly obvious to Sierra—how many other men in the SFDF showered and bathed on a regular basis?). Unfortunately, his time among 'the people' had eroded his upper class skills—while 'living in sin' as she and Nash had been doing for the past year _definitely_ occurred in upper crust society (absolutely no doubt on that score), it was not polite to _acknowledge_ it. Sierra hadn't wanted to offend Klaus, and, well…

And, well, that explanation was sounding more and more hollow as the hours and days dragged on.

Of course, Nash took it badly. _Of _course_ Nash took it badly_, mocked an inner voice. _What did you expect!? In fact, I wouldn't be that surprised if you had _wanted _him to take it exactly in that manner._ Was she really so petty? Did it all really boil down to wanting to hurt Nash for hurting her?

_He really shouldn't have, _she thought defensively, earnestly trying to convince herself, _and I don't see why I should be feeling bad at all!_

But even her exhortations at absolving herself failed. She saw the way Nash watched her any time that she and Klaus were talking... There was hurt in his eyes, and a touch of anger. Of course, as a good spy, he'd never let any of it on... _Jealous? Jealous of what! _she internally demanded. After all, it wasn't as if she was particularly _attracted_ to Klaus. She guessed (if she squinted) he did have sort of a bookish, librarian charm to him… Really it had never been about his looks. And sure, she had picked on him a bit when they first met in Tinto, but Sierra had soon found that Klaus was one of the few people who she could actually hold a conversation with—he apparently didn't care about her vampiric powers or her oftentimes flirty nature. And when his father died, she had helped to keep him grounded.

But that wasn't to say that Klaus was attracted to her, either. She rather got the feeling that she was definitely _not _his type (besides, rumors were swirling about Klaus and another one of those high-strung, proper, former Highland elite types back in Dunan—no need to step in the middle of _that_). His good company was quite welcome back in the days of the Orange Army, and remained so now. They were…

Friends. One of the first she had made ever since leaving the forest oh so many years ago.

And while that was a welcome (in a manner) sort of revelation, the rest of Sierra's thoughts continued on in a gloomy manner.

**xXx**

The silent stand-off continued for the rest of the journey, though, a credit to the both, they managed to continue their streak of civility for Klaus' sake.

Speaking of Klaus... he soon saw through Sierra's flimsy excuse and realized early on the Nash and Sierra were together (in every meaning of the word), and generally felt bad that the two of them were torturing themselves in this manner for his sake. Suffice to say, his time in the Orange Army and his studies abroad had quite expanded his horizons.

He also realized that Nash was a spy, and his job was to spy on Klaus for the Harmonian government (it was hard _not _to come to that conclusion after the way Sierra had acted on the first day; nor did Nash _look _like any sort of ambassador he had ever seen; not to mention that Klaus was well versed in international politics and had never heard of an "Ambassador Clovis"). He wished he could just come out and end their little 'dance', but unfortunately it was in Dunan's best interests for Klaus to pretend as if he didn't know...

For the life of him, though, Klaus couldn't fathom why Harmonia had bothered to send a spy along anyway—diplomats were trained to play their cards close to their chests, and while Nash _was _fairly talented, there was nothing with which he could use to exploit Klaus. Case in point, Klaus was _unlikely _(at best!) to drink too much one night and let things slip.

There was more to this situation than Klaus was seeing... but such was the nature of hard-ball real politick.

**xXx**

In time (though not soon enough for some) the carriage winded its way to Crystal Valley. The lively city culture did little to alleviate the strained airs between our two principals. Picking its way along the main streets of Harmonia's biggest city, the carriage slowly edged ever closer to Circle Palace. After a full day of travel through the city, the coach pulled up to the finely wrought crystal gates of the palace.

The carriage paused for a moment as the coach driver conferred with the security detail at the gate (handing over a copy of Nash's orders, which our 'wonder spy' had given him earlier). After several more minutes of verification, those finely wrought gates slowly swung inward and the carriage proceeded. The ride to the main entrance of Circle Palace too surprisingly long as well. By the time the coach had arrived, the sun was already sinking towards the horizon.

Awaiting the carriage was a small government delegation—several Harmonian guardsmen in sharp dress uniforms, two government functionaries, and an easy going looking fellow with an inviting smile and a classy suit. Nash, the first out of the carriage, wore a perplexed expression. _Don't recall any mention of this in my orders..._

Once Klaus stepped out of the carriage, the man in the suit seemed to glide right over to him, effortlessly breezing past Nash entirely. "Mr. Windamier, I presume?"

Klaus nodded, a bit warily. "And whom do I have the honor of...?"

"Geoff Hendricks, ambassador of the Holy Kingdom of Harmonia," the man in the suit said quickly. "I'll be handling the rest of this diplomatic mission." Hendricks then gestured to his guardsmen. "Off load the luggage, men." The men leapt to the task, unloading the back of the carriage.

Several seconds passed, then Hendricks seemed to remember something. "Ah, Ambassador, er, Clovis," Hendricks said, turning. He nodded to Nash. "Your assistance has been greatly appreciated. Your quarters in the East Wing are waiting for you." He glanced over his shoulder towards the entrance of the Circle Palace. "First, though, please head to Bishop Sasarai's offices—there are, er, several other members of my staff waiting to debrief you."

Both Klaus and Nash's eyebrows shot up at that, in an adorable display of unconscious similarity. They both got the very distinct feeling that the Harmonian government wasn't putting the effort into their deception that they could have.

Mr. Hendricks nodded once more to Nash (a clear dismissal) and gestured to Klaus. "Please, if you would—this way, Mr. Windamier."

Klaus took several steps but stopped short. He turned back to Nash and Sierra (both standing next to the now empty carriage), then dropped his head in a short bow. "Thank you for escorting me to the capital. And I hope that I did not cause any," Klaus paused, his eyes moving quickly between the two, "_undue_ trouble for either of you."

_Did he mean_...both Nash and Sierra wondered at the exact same moment. After several more seconds, Nash finally reacted, waving it off and mumbling something between 'you're welcome' and 'don't worry about it'.

Klaus and the Harmonian delegation turned and marched into Circle Palace proper. With a nod to Nash, the carriage driver reversed course and drove the carriage back out towards the main gate.

Nash and Sierra were suddenly quite alone. The two stood awkwardly, not quite looking at each other, but not _not_ looking at each other. Sierra edgily folded her arms. Nash tucked his hands into his cloak's pockets, one of his hands working the edge of the report he had written about the entire mission.

The two turned to each other finally, both trying to speak at the same time:

"I—"

"Listen, about—"

The two, looking abashed, stopped, looking away.

"No, go ahead," Nash said.

Sierra aristocratically stuck her nose in the air. "Just... what are your plans?"

Nash shifted uncomfortably. "I'm going to turn in my report, then get some rest in what apparently are my new apartments in the East Wing," he answered quietly. "And you?" he fired back.

"I... think I need to freshen up a bit. Is it all right if I use those new apartments of yours?" she asked.

Nash nodded, then started forward, marching towards the Circle Palace entrance. He had only taken a few steps when he stopped and turned back, staring at the ground at his feet. "Listen... Just don't..." His expression scrunched up for a moment. Then, for the first time in a long while, he met Sierra's gaze. "Don't leave until we have a chance to talk. Please?"

Sierra was slightly taken aback by this surprisingly humble plea. She nodded wordlessly. Nash nodded to himself, slowly, but soon gathering in speed. Still nodding (almost to himself), he turned back and continued on to the entrance. Sierra stared after him, then silently vanished.

**xXx**

Nash had spent quite a few years in the Circle Palace as a young man—the home of Harmonian politics had been the trial ground for many a Latkje... at least back when the Latkjes had that sort influence in Harmonian politics anyway (or, for that matter, still really existed).

The point was that Nash had little difficulty in getting to Sasarai's offices... or at least, to the entry way that_ led_ to Sasarai's offices. A surly Harmonian guardsman stood quietly in the hall. Nash made some feeble effort at straightening up his cloak, then approached. "Ho—I'm Nash Clovis. I'm to deliver a report to Bishop Sasarai."

The guard did not seem much impressed. "Clovis... " He paused, as if testing the flavor of the name in his mouth; he apparently didn't like it. "I'll take the report—the bishop is currently occupied at the moment."

This too struck Nash as unusual, but he wordlessly withdrew the report anyway. The guardsman quickly grabbed the sheaf of papers out of Nash's hand, all the while with a bored look on his face. "You efforts are greatly appreciated, and a major aid to the nation of Harmonia," the guard said unconvincingly.

He resettled into his previous stance, eyes distance and staring at nothing and everything at once. He made no move to take the reports anywhere near Sasarai's office.

After everything that had happened, Nash was understandably losing touch with civility. "Aren't you even going to read it!?" he snapped.

The guard didn't move, his eyes continuing to scan the hall and definitely _not _meeting Nash's glare. "Your _efforts_ have been an_ aid_ to the nation of Harmonia," the guard repeated slowly.

When the guard did not elaborate, or for that matter make any move to reexamine the report, Nash turned away in disgust. "Yeah, and screw you very much," he called back over his shoulder as he marched away.

Nash was quickly getting the feeling that all this mission had been good for was wrecking his relationship with Sierra. _They didn't even _want _my report… They probably just wanted someone to literally escourt Klaus to Crystal Valley, but just ran out of ambassadors. _His thoughts continued, in less and less kindly tones, in this manner.

**xXx**

His mood was understandably black by the time he reached his newly assigned apartments in the eastern wing (it hadn't been helped by having to ask directions once or twice—no one had been kind enough to inform him just _which _were his). He opened the door, but before he could even step in he noticed a letter had been slipped under his door.

Tearing it open, he was unsurprised to find yet another layer of orders from the government. "At 0900, report to Bishop Sasarai's offices," Nash mocked in a nasally tone, "because obviously he is too busy to speak to you now..."

"Is that what that said?" Sierra asked.

Nash looked up: Sierra was standing at the entrance to the bath, her hair wet. Her cloak was haphazardly tossed over a stool just shy of the door. Her arms were folded, and her expression was impossible to read.

Silence.

Nash shifted uneasily, and slowly moved to a near-bye desk, dropping the letter on top of a stack of blank stationary. "Uh... Yeah," Nash finally responded.

After another abnormal pause, Nash continued. "I'm kind of amazed you're still here," he said coldly. Really, that was the exact opposite of what he had really _wanted _to say, but... but he was hurt and confused, and blindly striking out.

Sierra seemed to have something of an internal battle for a moment, but her trademark crass attitude (a self-defense measure?) seemed to win the day. "Well, that's quite the greeting." She canted her head. "At least _I _haven't been the one acting like a sulking child for the past week..."

"Oh, and I wonder why _that _is!?" he shot back.

"What," she asked, her tone mocking, "Are we all upset because your duty tore you away from your dear, dear rune mistress?"

Nash flushed crimson, and he stared down at the carpet in embarrassment. "Now, listen I tried to—" He broke off raggedly, his eyes hardening as he defiantly met her gaze again. "Well then what about Klaus!?" Nash demanded angrily.

"Klaus!?" she echoed. "What about him!?"

"Oh come on!" Nash protested. "Damn, could you have hammed up your flirting any more!? Or would throwing yourself at him have been too obvious!?"

Sierra's face froze, her expression for a moment confused. "What... what are you—" a irritated growl, then, "There's nothing_ there_, you slow-witted twit!" she roared. "He's one of the few people that I can actually hold a civil conversation with!" Her eyes narrowed. "Unlike _some _people," she finished, indicating Nash with a wave of her hand. "What," she went on after a moment, "was it wrong of me to have a _friend_? Is that what all this is about!?

Her temper finally peaked – enough was enough! "And why do you even _care_!?" she plowed on. "Since _clearly_ you prefer cavorting around with skimpily dressed rune mistresses!"

"Don't give me any of that!" Nash fired back. "I tried to explain exactly what was happening there, _but you wouldn't let me get—_"

"Oh, _yes_, because a _mysterious aura_ seems to exude from her, right?" she snapped angrily, interrupting him. "More like 'Little Nash' doing all of your heavy thinking for you!" She snorted derisively. "Bah. _Men_. You're all alike..."

Nash folded his arms, accompanied by an irritated jerk of his head. "Oh, right, because clearly _I'm_ the villain here! At least I'm not ashamed to be seen together! And at least I don't hang on every other male when I get_ bored_ in a relationship!"

"Is _that _what you think!? How dare you! First of all, how _dare _you _presume _to know if and when I am _bored _with anything! And second," she continued to storm, "You certainly don't own me, nor do you own the way I behave – you knew exactly what you were getting into when we starting this... this... this—"

Nash scowled. "_Relationship_?" he asked sardonically, his tone scathing. "What, can't you even say _that _much!? Gods, this is pathetic!" he shouted as he turned away, his hands thrown in the air. "And in case you have forgotten," he continued, turning back to face her, "_you _were the one who just showed up one day on my doorstop in Caleria!"

"Well_ clearly _that was a _complete _mistake on my part, now wasn't it!?" she railed, "I mean, I guess I was just under the impression there was something _worthwhile _between us!" She stopped, tossing her hands help up in exasperation. "But I guess it turns out you just have loyalty to anyone with a plunging neckline and a giggle like a vapid doll!"

"Don't you _dare_!" Nash grated out.

"Why, Nash? Why shouldn't I 'dare'!?" she demanded.

"Because," he shouted, sounding nearly hysterical, "Because, Gods help me but I'm _in love_ with an 800 year old vampire _hag_ who has an attitude problem!"

Well. _There_. It seemed to be all out in the open.

Sierra blinked several times, as in disbelief at what she had heard. "That," she started, sounding dazed, "that may have just been the most romantic thing that any one has said to me in the past six hundred years."

And, all at once, both suddenly found themselves rushing towards one another's open arms and...

...and that, unfortunately, is as far as we can follow our two leads for now... at least as far we can go without violating decency standards—and I, your humble chronicler, have no desire for our tale to be snubbed out due to the powers that be ruling it too… _saucy_. But I believe we can afford our twosome this privacy; after all, they've been through a lot recently. But don't worry—they should have all of it out of their system by the next morning…

Besides, they couldn't spend the _entire_ day in bed—Nash still has that meeting with Sasarai the next morning after all...


	5. Weekend at Heller Manor, Pt 1

Sasarai tapped his finger on his desk. "I realize that you must be a bit disgruntled with me."

Nash adopted a neutral expression. "And why would that be?"

Sasarai held his hands up in an expansive shrug. "Diplomatic to the end—I can see why you are so often successful in missions." He steepled his fingers. "A number of things," the bishop started, "for example, that ultimately pointless mission I just had you run to start... and why I've left you out in Caleria for so long to finish."

Sasarai leaned back in his chair. "I'll be honest. We didn't really need you to escort Mr. Windamier here. Ambassador Hendricks was waiting on call the entire time. But it was a useful excuse to get you here, and with a low profile to boot..." Sasarai looked up. "Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak."

Nash nodded slowly, though perhaps a bit unenthusiastically. "Well, that does explain a few... quirks in that last mission...

Sasarai laid his hands flat on his desk. "Well, anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that because of certain... circumstances, I've had to let you languish out in Caleria. That must have seemed rather disappointing, right? Especially with such a job title as 'special bishop envoy.'"

Nash's mouth pressed into a thin line. "Well, yes, I guess the question of why I was still posted in Caleria did cross my mind early on, but I figured that it just made things simpler for you. You know," Nash started, gesturing broadly, "unknown espionage resource tucked well outside of the capital—useful in political spats, I'd hazard."

The bishop chuckled. "I suppose it would be at that." His expression shifted, his gaze growing distant. "To some degree that _was_ my rationale, though trying to limit the dangers to both you and Commander Suphina due to the recent …_unpleasantness _between certain elements of the Howling Voice Guild and segments of the government also played into the decision."

Sasarai stood and walked to the window behind his desk. "You are no doubt aware of the election of a knight class gunner, Clive, to Headmaster of the Guild?" Nash nodded. Sasarai continued, "Clive's election represents a victory for the Guild's moderate factions—in other words, the group that has been slavering for your head has fallen out of favor.

"Therefore," Sasarai said, turning, "now is the time for your service to truly begin. You are from this moment now officially transferred to Crystal Valley. You'll of course get a new stipend... and I'll assume you can handle lodging and the like on your own... though, of course, you are free to use the rooms in the East Wing until you are fully settled. However," he went on, folding his arms, "I need you to make the move as soon as possible."

Nash's eyebrow quirked. "And just how soon is that?"

Sasarai reached for a manila folder on his desk. "If you have the time, I've got a mission for you right now… unless you need to return to Caleria and tie up any…._loose ends_?" If Sasarai's tone hadn't made it blindingly obvious what he meant, then his arched eyebrow would have.

Nash fought to keep a smirk off his face. _My 'loose ends' come with me where-ever I go… _"I have everything I need with me—I can send someone else back for the remainder of my stuff in Caleria."

Sasarai broke out in a weak smile. "That's good to hear." He tossed the folder to Nash, who caught in the air. "In that case, let me tell you about Heller Manor…"

**xXx**

Nash paced back and forth along the far side of one of the Circle Palace's many courtyards. He stopped, raised his arm as if to declare something, but didn't, and instead returned to pacing. _Soldiers... Why'd they have to give me soldiers_...? he wondered desperately.

He turned his gaze upon the small troupe of about six soldiers assigned to him. They were all very tall and buff, and their armor was polished to a shine. They were, in every sense, very impressive. And Nash felt completely out of place leading them. _I'm a _spy, _for cryin' out loud! _He folded his arms. _Deep breath, Nash. Keep it cool_.

He had tried to pass on the additional back up, but Sasarai was adamant. The tail end of the meeting floated to Nash's mind, unbidden. _Admittedly it is a bit outside of your field of expertise, but I'll be blunt—traditional tactics have thus far proven to be completely ineffective—not to mention costly, speaking strictly in terms of men and material. And your past experiences, if your file is accurate, with the supernatural may just be what we need here._

"Okay, uh, men!" His soldiers obediently straightened to attention. This threw Nash for a second, and his little speech faltered. After a moment... "Er, right, uh..." _Crap_.

"Gentlemen," called a voice from the shadows, "you are dismissed for the time being. Please make sure to report to the Eastern Gate by 0800 tomorrow morning, as that is when this expedition will be setting out for Lakeside, where we will be investigating..." at this point, Sierra stopped, and looked pointedly at Nash.

He coughed lightly. "Where, uh, we will be investigating the disappearance of both several young ladies from the local area, and several units of Harmonian soldiers." A beat, then, "Uh, dismissed." The soldiers, to a man, saluted Nash, then quietly marched from the courtyard.

"Well, that was easy..." Nash said quietly, turning as Sierra languidly marched into the sunlight. Normally, he would have been rather put out by Sierra intervening (or, indeed, by insisting on coming along and 'helping' with his mission, like she so clearly stated she was planning) but today seemed special, so instead he rewarded her with a winning smile.

She yawned delicately. "Well," she started, "when you live for 800 years, you happen to pick up a few tricks... Especially when you have friends like Klaus..." she finished, giving Nash a Significant Look.

Nash, however, after the emotion baring events of the previous nights, was completely nonplussed. "Yeah?" he asked, edging closer. "Well, I'm sure that some of the tricks that _I've _taught you aren't exactly useful in combat but have some other... very nice... uses...?"

"Nash?" Sierra asked after a good few minutes, though still firmly locked in a kiss with Mr. Latkje, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but don't you have other things you need to handle before tomorrow?"

"Mmm," was Nash's eloquent reply, and he did his best to ignore her and continue their mild make-out session.

"Nash," Sierra repeated, this time a trifle more command in her tone.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, finally breaking the kiss and turning away. "I know, I know. Harmonian duty and all that rot!" He strode away to an exit on the far side of the corridor. As he whistled a tune, Sierra realized that that might have been the happiest she had ever seen Nash.

**xXx**

Lakeside was a small burg that had seen better days. It was located about five days east of Crystal Valley, on the banks of its namesake, sorely isolated lake. Lakeside gave the impression at first glance of a slightly bigger Greenhill or a very dilapidated Muse, depending on how charitable one was feeling when they were describing it. And either way, Lakeside was far more _drab _their either of those luminaries.

Lakeside's skyline was dominated by the archaic looking castle/manor on the northern side of the city, on the closest thing to a hill central Harmonia had to offer. Particularly in the fading sunlight of late afternoon on which the Clovis (Latkje) Expedition arrived in the Lakeside area, the castle just seemed to have a sad air about it...

Or, at least, it seemed to have a sad air about it until the expedition arrived in town; the shift in perspective suddenly made the castle seem to loom too large, as if it was a person suddenly standing too close and was acting belligerent and threatening. Nash (with Sierra a half step behind) led his men – in two columns of three – defiantly up the small main street.

The contingent passed several townspersons, all equally wrapped up in thick woolens against the coming winter's chill. Each of these people just mutely watched as the so-called Expedition wandered along the main street, their faces blank.

"You know," Nash started, "I was kind of expecting to see some... I dunno, _relief_ on the faces of the people here..."

"Aw," Sierra started, patting Nash's arm in a condescending manner, "Are we upset because the locals aren't throwing flowers at the arrival of their grand savoir? There, there." Pat, pat.

Nash yanked his arm away. "Yeah, yeah, very funny." He suddenly came to a stop, holding up a hand to indicate to his troops to do the same. "Ho, there!" Nash called out to an aged man standing outside of a fairly large house on main street. "I'm looking for Elder Edwin. Might you direct me—"

"So," the man suddenly started in a voice with an oddly lyrical accent, eying Nash up and down critically, "you're the next batch the government decided to send in." His gaze and tone made it clear he was less than impressed. "Only six soliders this time... anda _woman_ to boot." He shook his head. "The government must be crazy."

Nash and Sierra traded looks. "I take it _you're_ Elder Edwin?" Sierra asked.

The older man nodded. He was a bit paunchy, with a great big mustache and a battered looking maroon fez on his head. "That I am." He looked the expedition over once more. "Well," he started, "come on. Let's get you warmed up and get some food in you before you go marching off to your deaths." He turned and marched into the large building – the mayor's residence.

"Well," Nash started, his voice dry, "what a cheery town." With a wave to his men, he and Sierra marched into the residence. Before he followed them in however, Nash cast a surprisingly apprehensive look at the manor on the hill.

**xXx**

"How was the stew?" Elder Edwin asked, leaning back in his chair, away from the large dining room table around which he, Nash, and Sierra sat.

Nash exchanged looks with Sierra again. "Uh... great. Right guys?" he called out to his men, now milling about near the front door. They grunted in agreement, heads bobbing up and down. _Look's like I got a nice and talky bunch_, Nash thought sarcastically.

"Good, good. It's always important that a man's – or woman's, I guess – last meal be pleasing to the pallet."

Nash's expression soured. "You know, that's the second time you've referenced our impending deaths..." Nash started. "And I don't think that you're giving us much of a fair shake on—"

"Stop right there," Edwin interrupted forcefully. "You can save your 'We'll handle this problem' speech, because I've heard it before. Isn't that right, Maude?"

Edwin's wife, a large older woman with big, expressive eyes, nodded. "That's quite right, Edwin, quite right."

"We've heard it all before," Edwin continued, leaning forward and resting an elbow on the large table. "First it was the local constabulary, when the young ladies started disappearing, then it was the two agents sent by the Howling Voice Guild, then it was the ten man party of soldiers the government sent, then _another_ ten man party of soldiers." His hand had thumped the table with each successive point. "And not a one returned after launching their investigation."

He sat back in his chair. "Now, then, I'll suggest to you that you and your men..." a momentary pause, as the elder's eyes flicked to Sierra, "...spend the night. No need to go off to your deaths without some decent rest first."

At this Nash was mostly speechless (though he did note idly that Sasarai had failed to mention the two Howling Voice Guild operatives during their initial briefing). It was Sierra who finally spoke up. "Actually, if you would not mind, I would like to ask a few questions about the area..."

If Edwin was impressed by Sierra's curiosity, he didn't show it. "Well... fine, if you like."

"Has that castle—"

"Manor," Edwin corrected without thought, "Heller Manor."

Sierra glanced momentarily at Nash ("is this guy serious?") but then cleared her throat again. "Ahem, right, yes, Heller Manor – has it always been here?"

"Since the town was founded," Elder Edwin began, nodding to himself. "The Hellers – they are... _were_ the local lords in charge of the Lakeside region, back just after the Hero's War."

"They backed Hikusaak's overthrow of the prevailing Aronian aristocracy, right?" Nash interjected.

Edwin nodded, begrudgingly impressed with Nash's command of history. "That's right. As a reward for their loyalty in the war, they were granted Clear Lake and a wide area surrounding it as personal property, and the town just sort of grew up around them."

Sierra frowned. Heller... That name sounded awfully familiar... She shook the thought off.

Edwin continued. "Back then, the Hellers were a powerful family – some of the first among the first class citizens, if you get my meaning..." Edwin calmly folded his hands. "Unfortunately, they hit some hard times after a few generations, much of their prestige lost. The final nail in the coffin was when they made some disastrous choices in whom to back during the Harmonian Civil War."

Edwin looked towards a heavily shuttered window. "And now... Now there's not a Heller left, and the Manor..." His eyes hardened unexpectedly. "Now that Manor is nothing but a curse, a _blight, _on this town." He said it with such conviction and so forcefully that Nash almost completely bought into what he was saying before he had actually listened. After a moment, he cast a skeptical eye over to Sierra. "It's an evil omen, now, that Manor, and its done nothing but bring disasters upon the good folk of Lakeside."

He nodded to himself. "And those vanished maidens are but the most recent of our setbacks." Edwin settled back in his chair, then began to rattle off a very, very long list of everything that had gone wrong from the moment of the Harmonian Civil War onwards. No ill was too large (the drought of '31, the blizzard of '46) nor small (several of the town's horses had sprained their ankles right around the same time about ten years ago, Elder Edwin had stubbed his toe that very morning).

By the time his little tirade had concluded, Sierra was fuming. She was almost tempted to push the issue (and, she believed, try to get them to take some responsibility for themselves instead of blaming some silly superstition), and, indeed, was about to launch into such an attack, when she noticed Nash shake his head ever so slightly. She crinkled her nose but complied.

"Hrm... Well," Edwin said, turning his attention back to Nash, Sierra, and the Harmonian soldiers, "It's getting rather late, and I suspect you'll be wanting to march off to doom early on tomorrow." Nash rolled his eyes. Elder Edwin shifted his bulk out of his chair. "Come on, then – let's get all you settled in for the night."

**xXx**

About an hour later, Nash and Sierra stared at the ceiling of the small guest room that they had been given, on the second floor of the mayor's residence. Decorated with brightly colored quilts that looked like they may have hailed from the Chisa clan of Grasslands, the room looked decidedly out of place in the oh-so-dreary Lakeside. Sierra closed her eyes, a look of mischief just visible in light cast by the dying embers in the fireplace. "Such a lovely little town, isn't it?" she asked.

"Oh yeah," Nash started, "just great." He reached for something on his nightstand, but managed only to knock it onto the floor. "Oh, dammit..." He sat up. "This is ridiculous," he stated flatly.

"Which part?" Sierra asked, her tone jaunty. "This town's universal pessimism, the ineptitude of both the local _and _national governments in attempting to resolve this mystery, or the townsfolk's shocking inability to take responsibility for their own hard lives?"

Nash paused, looking thoughtful. "On second analysis," he stared, "I'd have to agree with all those points." He stood up. "But I originally meant these," he said, with a touch of disgust. He held up the needlessly heavy blackout curtains which blocked the room's large bay window. "Man, are these people serious?" he asked, rhetorically.

He struggled with the heavy black curtains for several long moments. "Damn, this thing feels like a sack of sodden potatoes..." With a final grunt, Nash shoved the heavy curtains aside, letting in the tepid moonlight... and an altogether _lovely _view of Heller Manor.

After a second or two of staring at the Manor – looming like a dark and terrible giant – Nash shivered visibly. "You know, on second thought, maybe I'll just leave this closed..." He dropped the heavy curtain back into place.

"Ah, is Nashy a little scared?" Sierra mocked, though her tone was, surprisingly, not without sympathy. "Come here and I'll make it all better," she commanded, her arms outstretched.

Nash did as he was told, though the consternation hadn't left his face yet. "I'm not scared... _exactly_," he protested vociferously. As he slid onto the bed and into Sierra's arms, he hunched down a bit. "There's just something about this town... You know, something a little _off, _I guess... I think it's just setting me on edge."

He shook his head. "Whatever. I'll be fine." In the darkness, his expression shifted to one that some might characterize as slightly lecherous. "I think you'll find out that your man can be pretty fortified when the need arises, and that it takes a lot to unnerve him complete—"

As if it had been waiting for that exact moment to completely under-mine Nash's point, a wolf howled. It sounded uncomfortably close.

Nash coughed uncomfortably. "...probably just a lone mountain wolf..." he mumbled, trying desperately to sound confidant. Incidentally, he failed miserably in that goal.

And as if that wasn't enough... "Nash, we're in the middle of the greater Harmonian plains. There isn't a mountain for at least a week out."

In the darkness, Nash started to scowl. "Yes, okay, I know that, thank you."

The wolf howled again.

**xXx**

The next afternoon, the Clovis (Latkje) Expedition was finally prepared to investigate the mysteries of the town directly. For his part, Elder Edwin seemed oddly pleased. "So, its finally time, eh? Finally ready to go meet your fates in the Manor?" Edwin asked. "I though you were going to put it off until tomorrow, judging by all that time you wasted wandering around the town and asking questions this morning," the elder stated flatly, apparently oblivious to the finer points of 'tact.'

Nash glanced up at the sky. "Those were called 'interviews with the families of the victims, first of all," Nash started. "And secondly, it isn't _that _late," he protested. "Well have plenty of time to investigate the castle—"

"Manor," Edwin interjected.

Nash coughed politely. "Right, _manor_," he replied finally. To this, Sierra, who had been standing near-bye the entire exchange, rolled her eyes.

"Fine, fine," Edwin started. He then adopted a crafty look. "On the off chance that any of your bodies end up being discovered in town, where would you like the remains sent?"

Nash's last never suddenly snapped with an almost audible twang. "Would you knock that off!?" he snapped. "We're going to go up to that castle—"

"Manor," Edwin rattled off automatically.

"_Whatever_!" Nash snapped, irritation bleeding into his tone. "We're going up there, solve your damn problem, and then you better well be ready to hail us as your damn heroes, okay?" With an irritated toss of his head, Nash stalked away from the Elder.

"Temper, temper," Sierra murmured as she slipped into step just behind him.

"_Not helping_," he stoically replied. He then stopped and turned back to face her. "And that's some funny advice coming from _you _of all people."

Her impish smile quirked into a frown in the space of a second, and she punched him in the arm. "Ow!" he exclaimed, as he watched her walk ahead of him in a huff. "See!" he called after her, "_That's_ what I'm talking about!"

Nursing his wounded arm, he marched over to his men, still mustering for the day in the town square. He singled out the sergeant of the troupe. "Sarge, how we doing?" Nash asked.

The sergeant immediately dropped into a salute (which Nash sloppily returned). "Boys are just about ready, Sir. Will we be heading to the castle directly?"

Nash frowned. "I'm not sure. Part of me thinks we ought to ask a few questions around town first, but the rest of me honestly just wants to get this over and done with and get out of this damn town..."

Sierra, her arms carefully tucked into her blue shawl, nodded. "I've been thinking... There _is _something a bit off about all this," she murmured quietly into Nash's ear. "Perhaps it would be best to simply go to the source and—" She broke off. "Did you hear that?" she suddenly demanded.

Nash was already ahead of her. Both his hands were already resting on the hilts of his twin knives. "That came from one of the rooftops," he answered, his eyes already scanning the rooflines. "Sergeant," he called, "box formation – loose but ready. You understand?" Instead of answer directly, the Sergeant responded by forming up his men—all with pikes at the ready—into the requested formation. "Good man," Nash said softly to himself. Louder, "Edwin. Clear the street."

Elder Edwin, already tense by the sudden drawing of weapons by the Clovis (Latkje) Expedition, needed to further inducement. "Damn," Nash said as he watched Edwin scramble away, waving his hands in what was apparently a prepared warning to the others, "I didn't think I'd ever see him move that fast..."

"Latkje! Pay attention!" Sierra snapped, using his real last name as she did whenever she was either really angry or very focused. Her eyes were following... _something_ concealed moving with amazing speed along the rooftops. Her eyes narrowed in concentration. "There!" she finally shouted, suddenly flinging one of her throwing daggers with blinding speed.

It apparently connected with something. There was an altogether human sounding sharp intake of breath then... a _howl_, one that sounded remarkably like the one from the previous night, followed by a yelp and a sound of nails scraping and scrabbling over roof tiles. And then there was a loud thud.

Nash immediately drew his two daggers. "Where…?" he wondered aloud.

"There!" Sierra snapped, dashing off and blurring in one direction, headed to the tight alley in-between two of the buildings on main street. Before she had taken even two paces, however, a brown blur shot out from that direction. "What!?"

As the sound of nails clicking over cobblestones filled the air again, the brown blur began to define itself as it came to a wild, sliding stop. For all the world it looked like a wolf… only standing. On two legs. And if it wasn't such a terrifying visage, the… _thing _would look almost hilarious in its pink leather top and dark brown short pants Nash swiped at his eyes, not quite trusting what he was seeing with them. "W-what is that!?" Nash demanded.

Sierra's eyes narrowed. "That can't be… They were all dead." She spotted the Harmonian soldiers ostensibly under Nash's command edging forward ever so slightly, pikes and pole arms drawn. "No, you blasted fools! Stay back, and put your weapons—"

But her warning came too late. The wolf… _thing _noticed the aggressive stance of the soldiers; its lips pulled back in an instant, revealing the altogether too shiny teeth in its muzzle, and a low growl emanated from deep in its throat. Sierra's mouth narrowed into a thin line. "Your men have really done it now, Nash…"

Had Nash been paying attention, he probably would have either pouted or protested loudly, but the wolf-beast-thingamajig had monopolized all his attention. And he definitely did not like the potential for violence and bloodshed he was reading into this situation. "Sergeant, when I say so, I want you and your men to back away slowly, and put your weapons down. Do you—"

"Sir!" the sergeant protested, "You can't be—"

"On my mark, Sergeant," Nash repeated, his tone still calm but forceful in what he hoped would keep the wolf-_thing _from doing anything…_ hasty_. Nash swallowed dryly, then, "Sergeant…. Do it, n—"

Nash never quite managed to finish, as the creature picked that exact moment to launch itself at the knot of soldiers. With remarkable flexibility and agility, the creature managed to pick its way between the drawn weapons, and get right into the soldiers. Lashing out opposite leg and arm, two of Nash's men went tumbling down in a cacophony of plate mail.

The wolf-_thing _then effectively cannonballed another of the soldiers, before springing back, dodging a clumsy pole arm thrust from the sergeant, grabbing the weapon, and using it to knock and pin the sergeant down to the ground. The creature then hovered menacingly over the pinned officer, leaning over until its muzzle was only inches from the sergeant's nose.

"Dammit!" Nash cursed through clenched teeth, before dashing forward, his cloak billowing behind him. Withdrawing three of his throwing needles, he tossed them while continuing his forward charge.

All three of the knives connected, embedding themselves in the wolf-_thing_'s right shoulder. With a snarl, the creature's head whipped around to Nash… only to find the two soldiers who remained on their feet smartly pointing their spears at its head… and Nash not too far behind with a blazing arrow rune scroll held in his fingers. With the creature thusly distracted, the Harmonian sergeant managed to slide free. As he backed up, he helped one of his downed me back to his feet.

It seemed that they had reached an impasse. "Sierra? Any ideas?" Nash asked, glancing back and to the left at her from the corner of his eye.

"Perhaps," she answered mysteriously, carefully folding her arms. She had an altogether odd look in her eye.

Before Nash could press her any further, however, the creature snarled again, knocking the spears out of its way with a wild corkscrew twist of its arms then dashing forward… _directly _for Nash. Nash began the incantation for the scroll, but the wolf-_thing_ slamming into him (feet first) at running speed quickly put the kibosh on any magical assistance.

The creature's claws dug into the shoulders of his body suit (narrowly missing shredding his scarf). Nash and the beast glared at each other for a minute, Nash doing his very best to not be intimidated by the nightmarish wolf-visage staring down at him.

"My… what… big… teeth… you have…" he muttered, as he struggled with one hand to shove the creature off him and the other desperately felt around for the rune scroll he had dropped…

PLOK

With a wet, smacking noise, a knife embedded itself in the wolf-_thing_'s right forearm. With a yelp, the creature automatically pulled the arm back… giving Nash the chance he needed to shove it off and roll away. As he did, he nimbly twisted around, coming to stop on one knee and one foot.

The creature (thankfully) had seemed to forget all about him, instead yanking the throwing knife out of its arm and turning its murderous gaze upon its new target: Sierra (who had two other knives already in her hands). Nash allowed himself a small sigh of relief. _If anyone can handle that thing, Sierra_—

Relief suddenly turned to horror, however, as the wolf-_thing _shot forward for Sierra. Sierra reacted by throwing her knives… and – stunningly, _impossibly_ – _missed_. The creature hadn't even flinched as the two knives when flying by… and instead twisted around and dramatically backhanding Sierra… who – shockingly, _impossibly!_ – crumpled to the ground.

"S-_Sierra!_" Nash shrieked; watching Sierra downed so easily understandably threw him into an absolute panic. After a moment of being rooted to the spot he crouched on, Nash leaped to his feet and ran towards the two, both his knives at the ready.

For its part, the creature looked down at Sierra, seemingly confused, then looked up, towards Heller Manor in the distance. After a moment's more of thought (its head cocked to one side as if deep in thought), the creature bent down and calmly scooped up Sierra, tossing her over its shoulder.

Nash would never forget what happened next. The wolf_-thing_ craned its head back, flashed its fangs in what Nash knew to be a feral smile, and turned and dashed—far faster than any human could hope to match—along the main road. Though it (and with it Sierra) soon vanished among the buildings lining either side of the road, Nash knew that there was only one place that it could be headed…

"Sir?" the sergeant—who was breathing heavily but was otherwise unhurt—asked. "What are you orders?"

"What…?" Nash asked distractedly, still staring at oh-so-distant Heller Manor. His expression was one of a man completely lost.

"You're orders, sir," the sergeant repeated. "Do you have any orders for the men?"

Nash blinked a few times, as if to clear his head. He looked away for a moment; when he looked back at the sergeant, it seemed almost as if he was a completely different man. In a voice that brooked no argument: "Lock-step, double time, _up that hill_." Nash shouted, the absolute command apparent in his voice. Indeed, his whole demeanor had changed; it was this version of Nash, had things been different, that would have strolled the halls of Crystal Palace as the leader of the Latkjes...

As his men formed up and began marching, Nash stooped for a moment to reclaim his fire rune scroll… and the two knives Sierra had – somehow – missed with.

**xXx**

For all its looming qualities, Heller Manor was not actually that far from the edge of town. A brisk march at the double time managed to bring Nash and his men to the thickly constructed oak and iron double-doors in less than fifteen minutes. The clanging of the soldier's plate mail abruptly stopped as Nash held up a hand about two yards from the doors.

With a nod from Nash, the sergeant quickly signaled two of his men to move forward to pry the massive doors open. Each grabbed hold of

"What's the problem, Sergeant?" Nash asked, his tone still devoid of any warmth.

The sergeant experimentally pressed against the doors. "Either the hinges have completely rusted shut, or someone locked and barricaded this from inside." The sergeant glanced back over his shoulder. "Either way, I'm pretty sure we're not getting through." He folded his arms. "Perhaps if we go back to town, get some of the townspeople, and hammer at this thing with some sort of battering ram, we can—"

"Move," Nash commanded evenly. Almost without waiting for his men to do so, Nash withdrew the fire rune scroll again. Within seconds, it was glowing red. There was a bright burst of light, and—

"Be careful of the doors," Nash declared as he marched past the doors – blown inwards, well of their hinges by Nash's clever application of 'blazing arrow' and still sizzling on the ground – "They'll still be hot."

Judging by the entryway, a detached part of Nash's mind thought, the Hellers really _were _that well off. Much of the vaulted entryway Nash and his men marched through was covered by exquisitely detailed frescoes and sculptures… though, Nash did have to note, the choice of depictions could stand some scrutiny. Dangerous looking gargoyles, various demons, and other foul monsters seemed to be the order of the day.

"Charming place," he muttered bitterly.

The entryway gave way to what seemed to be the main hall of the manor. Two (very clearly locked) iron doors were on either side of the lowest part of the room (where Nash and his men entered). A short flight of stairs led up to a landing. If one continued straight they could enter what looked like a small hallway leading further back into the manor proper. On either side of the landing were two more flights of stairs, both leading to the same upper level of the main hall. On that upper walkway, four more iron doors (though Nash see to determine if _they _were locked) led to various places of the second floor.

"Follow me," Nash commanded. Without waiting for a response, Nash began to tromp up the steps; his men obediently followed.

The landing at the top of the stairs looked fairly nondescript, if a little... unfinished. Nash absently noted a series of what looked like holes. _What, the Hellers never manage to finish the grout-work? _he thought sarcastically as he dismissed them from his mind.

His gaze scanned the walls warily. It had remained quiet in the old place; if any..._thing_ had been alerted by Nash's... 'unconventional' method of knocking, they weren't tipping their hand. "All right, men," Nash started, strolling forward for the hallway across the landing, "we're going straight to the center of this pile of rocks, and we'll start searching out from there. Any—"

There was a sound of old rusty metal screeching. Nash frowned; the sound was coming from below him, but there was nothing down there but... _The holes!_

"Get back!" Nash shouted, shoving the sergeant off the landing. He tumbled backwards onto the stairs (thankfully caught by his men before he had fallen too far), his expression somewhere between anger and confusion.

Before he could join the sergeant on the other side, the first rusty metal spikes shot up from out of the holes. Nash automatically leaped back from deadly implements. _Aw, _hellhe thought to himself. He took several steps farther back, as the sharp spikes continued to shoot up, staggered, but still at an alarming rate. With few other options, Nash turned and bolted down the (needlessly) long hallway, the spikes just steps behind.

He managed to keep just ahead of the deadly trap, but he knew that his luck and speed weren't going to hold out; specifically, the hallway ended in a solid brick wall. The heavy iron doors he passed on either side along the hallway weren't going to be much of a help either: a thick and altogether looking iron padlock secured each of those doors.

_So this is how it all ends?_ Nash wondered inwardly. _Super-spy Nash Latkje skewered by oldest castle cliché known to man? _He skidded to a halt at the wall, quickly turning back to face the incoming spikes. _Dammit, why'd it have to be spikes!? _he silently railed, flinching away and pressing himself as close to the wall as he could manage.

SH-CHINK.

Nash cautiously opened one eye. His gaze was met with a row of the rusty spikes... about six inches away from him. He let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

At the distant end of the hall, Nash could just make out his men. "Hey!" he shouted. "I'm okay! Listen, head back down to the—"

Nash was interrupted by the sound of rusty metal gears yet again turning. He sighed heavily. _I should have known that was going to happen_...As the wall behind him shifted, tilted and fell away, and he was catapulted down a long chute, his men could only make out what sounded like an angry groan echoing down the hall...

On a floor below and on the other side of the manor, Nash crashed into an altogether dusty room, landing with surprising impact on a pile of dusty canvas. Sputtering and coughing, Nash sat up. "Well, _this _has gone well." He squirmed over to one edge of the canvas pile and dragged himself free. Standing, he dusted off his cloak and body suit as he eyed his surroundings.

He was trapped in a room with no doors. And aside from the chute (far too high on the fresco covered walls to climb to) and a window (small, and both covered in wrought iron bars in fantastical designed and higher up than the chute) there were no visible entrances or exits. And aside from the dusty pile of canvas he had crawled out of, nothing of note in the room itself.

"Okay," Nash started to himself, taking a deep breath. "The sun's setting, I've been cut off from my men, and I still can't find Sierra..." He swallowed thickly. "No problem," he said to himself, as he uncomfortably scanned the gothic styles walls. "No problem at all..."

He vaguely wished his voice wouldn't echo quite so loud...

**To be continued...**


	6. Weekend at Heller Manor, Pt 2

_Well, that was something of a delay... Chapter 6: Weekend at Heller Manor, Part 2_

Sierra came groggily awake, blinking her eyes repeatedly. Wherever she was, it was dark. This was less of a problem than it seemed, of course, because, well... _vampire_. By all accounts, she had been left in a storeroom. A tired looking barrel sat in one corner, next to a sagging burlap sack. Everything was covered in a healthy layer of dust. After actively listening for several minutes (and hearing next to nothing) she moved to stand... only then did she realize that she had been firmly tied to the chair she rested on. She blew her bangs out of her face in an irritated manner.

Before she could do anything else, she noticed the first hint of voices coming closer. They were faint (though, in truth, the oddly cavernous rooms and corridors of Heller Manor seemed to be complicating matters) but slowly coming closer.

"...me again how you managed to _botch_ this job?" asked a heavier and deeper voice, a male, clearly with a Harmonian accent. The male spoke in pace with a tapping sound—probably, Sierra thought, a wooden cane.

"You didn't tell me there would be more soldiers!" protested a heavily accented female voice (you the reader would recognize it as almost Jamaican). "It's not my fault—you can't—"

"_Imbecile!_" the male screeched, a petulant and altogether pathetic sound, Sierra decided. "_Whom_ (_and bad grammar to boot, _Sierra mentally sneered) is your master!" When the female didn't respond, the male screeched again. "_Whom _saved you when your village was attacked!? _Whom_ was it, exactly, that kept you fed and warm every night!"

"Y-you," the female voice admitted, sounding tired and defeated. "_I_ panicked, and _I _grabbed the first girl I could get my hands on," she continued. "Though she is pale," the lady started eagerly, "she is really very pretty!"

There was another pause. "Please don't punish me, master!" the female voice begged.

The cane tapped out a sudden staccato, as the two voices halted (still some distance away). "I _suppose_, given the circumstances, you were not completely incompetent." The two resumed moving closer. "Still, though, things remain less than ideal..." He cleared his throat. "I can feel them... Those _Harmonians_..." Sierra took note of the odd emphasis placed on the designation of nationality. If a speaker had a Harmonian accent, why would they refer to their fellow countrymen with such distain?

"They're roaming around my manor, like a lost sheep herd," he resumed. "Just like the group before them, and just like the group before _them_." Sierra imagined the speaker tossing his head airily. "These soldiers, they act all the same..." He snapped. "Well, let us see how _this _batch will deal with my ghouls..." Suddenly, at the very edges of Sierra's (admittedly still muddled) senses, she felt the recently dead stirring and starting to move.

"A pale beauty, you say?" The foreigner-yet-not-a-foreigner asked as the pair stepped nearest to the door to Sierra's pantry. "At least your latest excursion was not a complete waste. Let us have a look at her, shall we?" Both speakers took several short steps to the door Sierra had been watching; she narrowed her eyes as the door swung inward and light poured in.

As her vision cleared...

Silence, then a sharp intake of breath, then, "You?! _NO_! No, it_ cannot_ be!"

Sierra blinked a few times. Her face suddenly contorted into a scowl. "I know you... _Vampire_."

**OOO**

As his small grapple hook failed to find anything to hook onto for the fifth time, Nash irritably kicked at the dusty pile of canvas. He began to pace.

"This isn't working," he stated flatly. He had found that by standing on the canvas (while on the tip of his toes, to boot) his grapple hook could just... _barely _reach the end of the chute he arrived in. Unfortunately, his hopes of for a hidden lip or _something_ for the hook to latch onto had been thoroughly dashed.

He folded his arms, again aimlessly scanning the four walls that encircled him. "I'm losing the light," he noted mirthlessly, glancing at the distant window and the orange-purple sky beyond. He figured he had somewhere between two and three hours of reliable light, and then maybe another hour of so-so twilight before he was just puttering around in this dark little _hole _for the rest of the night...

That simply would not do. Nash turned his attention back to the opposite wall, rubbing his face and trying to look at the problem with fresh eyes. The most maddening thing about his trap room, he decided, was that if he looked close enough (even in the fading light) he could make out the outline of where a door _had _been. And judging from the newness of construction work, it had been a door until recently.

His right hand snaked into one of his many pockets, feeling a familiar bundle. _Though I guess I could try and make it a door again_...

His fingers idled against the tiny bundle—tightly wrapped in plain brown paper and wax, and tightly bound with twine. It was, altogether, a crazy thought. And, he thought to himself as he took yet another look around the space, judging by how small and enclosed the space was, the idea in all honestly probably kill him.

But it didn't matter, because his old girl was somewhere on the other side, and he was going to be damned before he just gave up!

He didn't have very much black powder on him—he had been expecting to deal a few wind chimes and some superstitious nonsense, not a wolf-_thing_ and a stupid old mansion that had been rigged into a massive death trap. Looking grim, he pulled free his knife and began chipping at mortar on one side of the new wall. In practically no time at all he had chipped out a little alcove. As he began the slow process of packing and readying his 'explosive' escape, he hoped that wherever Sierra was, she was okay.

_Come on, Nash_, he tried to cheer himself as he prepared something which in all likelihood _was _going tokill him, _if there's one person who can take care of herself, it's _Sierra.

**OOO**

Standing before Sierra was a corpulent man in a velvet suit of dark violet and a blood red cummerbund (straining to maintain integrity against the massive bulk it was arrayed against). His gray hair was thinning, but had all been brushed forward in what looked to be a vain attempt to disguise that fact.

"Coven Mistress!" the gelatinous mass of a man stammered in panic before he could catch himself. He cringed, his arms immediately flying up as if to defend his face. "Wh-What are you doing here!?"

When Sierra didn't immediately tear through her bonds and assault him, his defensive stance loosened, and he took a long hard look at Sierra. "Wait," the man began, his arms lowering. "What's this? My, my my," he began, suddenly completely confidant again. "Can this be?" He turned back to the brown skinned woman in the pink leather top and baggy tan pants. "My dear, I have underestimated you—you've gone and captured the _coven mistress _herself!"

"Captured?" Sierra asked indignantly, "_Captured?_" Her eyes narrowed. "No one _captured_ anyone." As if to underscore that point, she easily stood upright, the moldy old ropes seeming to just crumble away. Sierra dusted herself off calmly, before folding her arms. "I figured that this would be the fastest route to whatever was behind this whole mess..."

Her eyes became crimson slits. "I hardly expected to see _you_ again. I _knew _the name 'Heller' sounded familiar. Narl Heller... You came to my village because you lost everything. I offered you a new chance at life, but you chose instead to continue the same sort of petty politicking that ruined your family and brought you so low in the first place."

"Petty politicking!?" Narl shouted, apoplectic. "You were _stifling _our development in the village! We could have been so much more! We could have _ruled_ central Harmonia, if not much of—"

"_Enough_!" Sierra roared. "You never understood what we were trying to do there, Narl! Blue Moon was a place of peace, of solitude and quiet!" She held up a hand, crackling energy building up around her hand. "Your sins lay heavy on you, Narl. I'll lift that burden for you!" she shouted, shooting forward, her hand flattened like a blade.

Narl cowered before Sierra's out-stretched hand. After a moment, he risked a look up again. Sierra's hand had stopped just inches short of piercing his chest. Sierra's furious gaze slowly craned over to what was holding her back: the woman with dark skin.

Though, Sierra noted, her skin was quickly vanishing under a layer of course brown fur shooting up across her body as her face morphed and changed into a long snout with bared fangs. "Werewolf..." Sierra muttered, irritated. The werewolf, for her part, declined to comment, only applying all of its considerable strength into wrenching Sierra's arm back and away from Narl.

This was apparently enough for Narl. "Just keep her there!" Narl shouted to his werewolf companion. With that, he awkwardly half turned, transforming before Sierra's eyes into a dark mist. The mist hurtled down the corridor, soon vanishing in the gloom.

"Narl!" Sierra shouted after him. She slammed an elbow into the wolf's midsection, just enough to loosen its grip. Scowling, Sierra morphed into a bat, speeding down the hall after Narl. The wolf, panting and cradling its midsection, stared after them before dropping to all fours and giving chase. She skidded to a short stop, however, as she heard what sounded like a...

**OOO**

BOOM

Nash's ears were ringing. And it rather felt like a horse had just kicked his chest in. Even behind the crude shelter of canvas he had built for himself he knew that he was going to feel that in the morning. Shoving himself up on one arm, he flopped down on the pile of canvas, staring at the smoking crater he had made in the wall.

Well, _crater _was probably stretching it a bit. Nash started at a smoking hole in the wall, approximately a half foot in diameter. _Well, it will do..._ He thought. Clambering over the canvas pile, Nash attempted to wave some of the dust and smoke away.

The space beyond the hole seemed to be large enough. Nash tentatively shoved on the bricks surrounding the hole. They offered some stiff resistance... But the explosion had done its work: with a little old fashioned elbow grease, Nash had managed to expand the hole another foot. "Here goes nothing..." he muttered, as boldly shoved his upper body in through the hole. He struggled to work his shoulders through, nearly getting stuck when his belt hitched on a shard of brick.

With a grunt, he yanked himself right on through, landing hard on his left shoulder and with his boot still hitched on the lip of the hole. "Not exactly my most impressive exit, I guess..."

Getting back to his feet and dusting himself off, Nash took stock. He had definitely felt better (and that ringing probably was just _not _going to go away anytime soon), and he was down a unit of Harmonian soldiers and about half of the black powder stock he had brought with him. And he was alone. In the dark. _Time to fix that..._

As he busied himself with trying to create a make-shift torch out of the few scraps of material he had ended up dragging out with him and what looked like an old metal pipe, Nash examined what he could of the surroundings. He found himself in a narrow hallway. The wall opposite of him was dominated by a row of old, giant washing machines—hollow and silent, they were now apparently gutted of anything useful. Down either side of the hall, he spied what looked like other newly blocked up rooms, just like the one he had just barely blown himself out of. _So I guess my little room wasn't a fluke? _The thought left him disquieted.

Breaking off to the left, he followed the corridor until it expanded into another larger room, oriented around a giant metal cylinder—probably the manor's furnace, Nash reasoned. _A giant place like this having central heating? _And _considering how old it is? That's mighty_—

Nash's trivial train of thought immediately derailed when his eyes chanced upon the _other _major feature of the room: what looked to be the crouched form of a peasant girl; judging by her drab and heavy woolens, one of the lost maidens who had sparked this entire nightmare. "Hey!" Nash called in a half-whisper, as he edged closer—no telling if what had abducted her was still poking around. "Are you from Lakeside? I've come to rescue you."

The girl's response—with her back turned to Nash, and crouched just behind the furnace—was hard to hear. "I'm... Lakeside... _Home_..."

"What?" Nash called, again in the same hurried whisper. He moved in closer.

But then the girl turned, and Nash jerked back, free-hand going for a knife or scroll or _something_. "What in the gods' name...?" he said shakily.

Blood was dribbling from the girl's chin, the tips of white fangs just peeking out from her lips, and her fingers nails were extended out to nasty looking claws. She was cradling—and apparently _feeding from_—the body of an unlucky Harmonian soldier (thankfully _not _one of Nash's men). Her gaze seemed vacant. "I was from Lakeside," the mad vampire girl repeated, "but I'm _home _now."

Nash was struck with an all too familiar feeling, which quickly led his thoughts to the obvious resolution. _What, there's a wolf-thing _and _a vampire in this hell-hole!?_" Nash demanded inwardly. _This is starting to sound like a horror story written by an idiot... _

Her eyes suddenly snapped into sharp focus on Nash. "Sisters... Sisters!" the vampire girl called emphatically, dragging Nash back to reality as she rose with unnatural speed to her feet (her soldier 'lunch' dropping to the ground with a metallic clang). "More has arrived!"

The room around Nash suddenly seemed to come alive—rattling and knocking come from everywhere in that basement. Nash watched as similarly mad vampire girls crawled out seemingly from every corner and nook (one even dragging herself out from one of those abandoned washing machines before Nash's disbelieving eyes). Even as a detached part of his mind lamented the fact that the vanished girls of the village were hopelessly and permanently lost, the rest shivered in apprehension. Granted, there were only somewhere between five and ten—but then again Nash had only a torch to light things in that dark and cramped basement, and damn if mad vampire girls aren't intimidating in the dark.

The first girl soon took several steps towards Nash. "Our husband is so kind..." she murmured, arms (and claw like nails) extending out before her as she reached for Nash. Reacting to the mere mention of 'their husband' the vampire maidens all sighed in unison.

"Husband?" Nash asked, vainly trying to use the torch and one of his knives to ward off the rapidly approaching ladies. "All sharing one guy, eh?" he asked, trying to remain light-hearted even in the face impending doom. "Poor bastard must be hen-pecked to death..."

"Oh no," the first maid immediately answered, as she lurched forward another few steps. "We all love our husband—he _provides _for us! He loves us!" The vampire back-up choir soon echoed 'loves us' in the creepiest way possible.

"I'm sure you think he does," Nash said, a trace of what was maybe sadness in his voice. He quickly dropped the torch. For a moment he cringed at the way it lengthened the shadows all across the room (which only added to the terrible visage of the advancing mad vampire girls), as he wildly rooted around in his cloak.

"And as much as I'd love to stay for dinner," his fingers closed around tiny bundle... "I'm afraid I really... must... _go_!" he shouted, pulling free the tiny bundle, and slamming it down to the ground (making sure to cover his eyes at the last moment).

The bundle—a flash bomb—exploded immediately. The mad vampire ladies shrieked in unison; without wasting a moment, Nash lowered his arm and made a mad dash past the furnace, tackling two of the vampire girls on the way. "He's getting away!" one of them shouted, groping blindly for him long after he had made it past.

Nash dashed blindly down the long hallway beyond the furnace—the sounds of moaning and gasping and pounding feet haunting his every step as the vampire girls relentlessly chased after him. _Come on... Come on..._ At last, as he rounded a turn in the hall, he spotted the basement's exit (not too subtly standing out with bright torchlight pouring in from around the basement door's cracks). Scrambling up the short steps—and pausing only a second to stare back at the pack of feral vampire girls chasing him (eyes and claws shimmering in the weak light), Nash slammed the door...

...only to discover to his horror that the basement door had no lock. "Okay, not panicking, not panicking..." Nash repeated to himself, as he desperately scanned his surroundings. Suddenly the first vampire girl slammed into the door, it shuddering in its frame with the sheer force. Seconds later, the door handled started to rattle. "Dammit!" Nash shouted, immediately throwing himself against the door, and grasping the door handle with both hands.

As the door rattled several more times, Nash struggled to reach a heavy looking oak chair. Snagging it by just wrapping the toe of his boot around one of the legs, Nash painstakingly dragged it over, even as he started to lose the feeling in his shoulder. Ramming the chair at an angle under the handle, Nash backed away, taking a deep breath. The door frame didn't stop rattling. "That's not going to hold for very long..." Nash said aloud. "Dammit..." he muttered, before turning and bolting from the door. "I hate running away..." His only hope was that he could find Sierra before his mad vampire girls found him again...

**OOO**

Sierra, still in bat form, sped down a hallway. She had lost sight of Narl, but could still vaguely feel his presence. She was still on his trail, although... (And here she paused for a moment, hovering in the intersection between two halls.) If she didn't know better, she would say that Narl had stopped somewhere up ahead. Her oddly adorable bat face crinkled. _So, he's decided to stop running and accept judgment like a man, has he? _The white bat sped off again. _I'm more than happy to oblige..._

Narl seemed to be waiting in the entrance plaza, just on the first landing. As Sierra pulled closer, she silently metamorphosed back into her human form. She skidded to a halt just short of the stairway leading to the landing (the suspiciously empty landing). As if waiting for her entrance as a cue, Heller's voice boomed out through the room. "There you are, Sierra," Heller began. "I was looking for you! Gua-ha-ha-ha!"

Sierra's eyes narrowed. "Show yourself," she growled.

Narl apparently chose to ignore her demand. "Ill admit that I was a bit surprised to see you again, Sierra," he continued. _More like you panicked at the mere sight of me_, she thought. "But I'm not running now," the disembodied voice continued. Suddenly ethereal bats, crackling with dark energy, began to coalesce at the center of the landing. "And neither will my army! Gua-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

And Sierra watched as green-skinned ghouls began to advance on her from all sides of the entrance hall. "This is the best you could do for a trap?" Sierra chided, her expression defiant. With a wave of her left hand, she blasted an entire section of the ghouls into nothingness with her Darkness rune... Only to watch as their numbers were quickly replenished. _He's been preparing for this for a while, then..._ Sierra thought, her eyes narrowed.

But before she could demolish any more ghouls, there was suddenly a commotion on the opposite side of the room. Sierra turned and watched (an almost perplexed look on her face) as a very certain spy tumbled, hacked, and struggled through the walking undead. "Geez," he muttered, mostly to himself, "where the hell did all these things come from?"

It was at that point that he finally spotted Sierra, a few yards ahead of him. "Sierra!" Nash shouted, at the base of the landing, both his eyes locked immediately locked on her. He inverted his grip on his twin knives, stabbing them down on either side of the nearest ghoul. "Ah, Sierra, thank—"

"What are you _doing _here!?" Sierra challenged immediately, surprising heat in her voice.

Nash looked the teensiest bit hurt. "Saving you," he answered, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"As if I need saving," Sierra began, even as an accusing voice whispered _you should have told him about your plan, before he recklessly charged in like he always does_. The self-criticism only helped make her scowl that much more unfriendly. "Stay out of my way, and try to keep from getting hurt, you _idiot_," Sierra ground out. _Please, don't get hurt..._

Nash stared at her strangely, and for a terrible half-second Sierra was afraid that he could see right through her tough façade and then she thought what a ridiculous idea _that _was and we _were _talking about Nash here. And then a ghoul nearly took off his head and the moment passed as he hacked through another ghoul. Nash took several large steps back, casting his eyes about the room.

"Damn!" he cursed, his eyes finally chancing upon the vaguely man-shaped shadow on the landing. "I take it you found the vampire!?" Nash he asked, as he hacked a path through another few ghouls.

If Sierra was surprised that Nash had managed to figure out what was behind the entire incident, she didn't show it. "Latkje! Quiet!" Sierra chided, her eyes never once leaving the shape on the top of the stairs.

As if one cue, the ethereal bats _finally _finished their gathering, and Narl Heller dramatically emerged from the shadows, his cape flinging back dramatically. "And now, it is time to end this charade!" he declared, a wild smirk on his face.

Nash finished slicing through another ghoul, dashing to stand back to back with Sierra. "I think we might be a little out numbered here," he declared. It was something of an understatement, as more and more ghouls continued to shamble out of the audience room's gloomy wings. His eyebrow arched, as several of the recent arrivals wore full Harmonian armor. _That explains what happened to the rest of the other teams_...

"Oh, I'll show you outnumbered!" Heller shouted. He advanced another few steps. He held out one hand, and suddenly an orb of crackling black purple energy appeared in his palm down hand. "Aren't you quaking with fear!" he shouted, as the energy seemed to speed along his cloak, before erupting into the air around him. "No...?" he asked, when met with Sierra's unshaken stony countenance. "Well, then I'll give you something to be afraid of!" He grunted, apparently concentrating harder. As the energy around him cackled madly, two shadowy doppelgangers appeared at his side.

"...You see, Sierra!" Heller shouted as he descended the steps, "I've learned a few tricks since you've seen me last!" He began to descend the stairs, his cloak billowing once again out around his bulk. "And now I'm going to prove how much I've learned! I'm going to kill you, and take the Blue Moon Rune! Then I'll take over Lakeside, and then Harmonia, and then Dunan, then Toran, then Grasslands! I'll create a nation of the night, with me at its head!" Heller began laughing maniacally; although it wasn't the most imposing sound, the scope of his 'future plans' was frightening enough to make up for it.

Sierra's expression turned flinty: that was _it _as far as she was concerned. "Letting you into the village was one of the bigger mistakes I've ever made," Sierra grated out. "I'm so glad that I'll be able to personally rectify this error so shortly..."

Reacting to her outrage and fury, the Blue Moon Rune awoke and seemed to hum. "Sierra...?" Nash asked, suddenly worried. He had never seen her actually_ use_ the rune before, and the tremendous force that suddenly buffeted the room was even enough to distract him from the legions of shambling undead that even then were bearing down on him.

"Blue Moon Rune... Purge this being from existence!" And the rune sang, blue and black energy crackling around her, before hurtling out in a spinning bolt, slamming into Narl's body, and both vanishing with only a sizzle.

It was only seconds later that she recognized Narl's earlier technique as something not too far removed from Neclord's doppelganger skill. _But, that means—_ Sierra immediately turned, only to see several more of Heller grinning at her... one of which was reaching out a hand to grab Nash.

"You know... Neclord was right," the... 'Narls' started, "You always _were _far too self-confident. So _smug_ in your assumption that you had all the answers."

One of his shades grabbed Nash by his shoulder. "What the—" Nash exclaimed, before the shade (with surprising strength) flung him to the higher reaches of the room. "Gaah!" Nash landed with a crash, out of sight, on a high walkway.

_Nash! _Sierra's mind screamed, her eyes widening.

"That's why Neclord could steal the Blue Moon Rune from right under your nose!" The shades again began to advance towards her, cackling madly all the while.

Sierra's eyes flicked up to the walkway Nash had landed on. She expanded her senses, relief flooding her as she found Nash—if a little battered—still breathing and _still alive_.

As she turned her attention back to the advancing Narls, she allowed that relief to fuel her righteous anger. With a howl of frustration, Sierra grimly set about to erasing Narl Heller from existence.

**OOO**

Nash grunted and coughed several times, as he pulled himself up out of the debris his little trip had busted free. _Hope nothing's broken..._ He thought darkly. On hands and knees, he crawled across the broken tile of the upper walkway, to the railing. He dragged himself up, leaning heavily against the top as he stared down at the chaos below.

Sierra was there, at the base of the ruined stairs, bolts of crackling energy hurtling out at ghouls and Heller shades alike. _This doesn't make any sense... The Blue Moon Rune should've torn Heller apart... _And one of those Heller shades _had _to be him... Unless...

Nash immediately began to cast his gaze about wildly. "Where is that fat son of a—" Nash adopted a feral grin. "Got him."

Narl—what had to be the _real _Narl—stood on a level just below Nash's landing point. Still a floor above the ground (where Sierra tore through wave after wave of shades and ghouls) and safely out of sight, Narl seemed to be enjoying himself. He was grinning widely as he pumped his arms, sending shade after shade down to the main floor. Pushing himself off the railing, with an arm still cradling his ribs, Nash began to do his stealthy best to get around behind Narl. He only made it a few steps, however, before he heard a familiar snarl...

Nash slowly turned. Easily hopping and climbing from one of the lower levels was the wolf-_thing, _red eyes locked on Nash. "You again..." Nash muttered. Before he could do much more than scowl, the beast flung itself from the wall, landing on his level on all fours.

And then the cavalry came charging in. From a doorway behind the wolf-_thing_, the sergeant stumbled out onto the walk way, scanning the area with his pike drawn. (At that moment, Nash immediately regretted ever doubting the utility of bringing soldiers along on this little pleasure cruise.) His eyes—just visible in his helmet—widened when he saw Nash. "Captain Clovis?" he asked. Then he noticed the beast. "Over here, men!" he shouted back down the hall.

The wolf-_thing _twisted when it heard that. Without any prompting from Nash, the sergeant charged. "Hah!" he shouted, thrusting out his pike. The wolf dodged, twisting halfway, before corkscrewing and slamming an arm into the sergeant's side. He grunted, but didn't sag—instead he twisted his pike, catching its broad side on the wolf-thing's back.

The wolf-thing sprawled to the ground, just as the rest of the Harmonian troops came spilling out onto the walkway. The sergeant looked back to Nash. "Keep it occupied, boys!" Nash shouted, as he turned and resumed his charge towards Heller. The sergeant nodded, and his men tensed as the wolf-thing clambered back to its feet.

"Hey, Narl!" Nash shouted as he dashed along the catwalk towards his prey, Sierra's lost daggers flicking into his hands. Narl swiveled, his cape resettling in a needlessly ridiculous fashion. "You should have made sure to finish the job!"

With that, Nash leaped from the higher platform, landing firmly on the same level as Narl. Before Narl could do much more than open his mouth in shock, Nash shot forward, daggers stabbing into the fat vampire. For a long second, the two hung precariously on the lip of the balcony—both snarling angrily at one another. Then all at once, the two tumbled over the railing, sailing down to the floor below.

The two slammed to the ground amid a knot of the undead. Narl—along with a trio of ghouls—had taken the brunt of the fall. _And besides_, Nash thought quickly as he began coughing again_, it's not like I was in much better shape before_.

After the shock had worn off, Nash immediately felt ghouls clawing at him. He doggedly kept Sierra's daggers in Narl, as if trying to stake him to the mansion floor. His grip starting to slip, Nash arched his back, his gaze casting wildly for Sierra. "Sierra!" he called, struggling to shake off yet another ghoul's decayed hand. "Now!"

In lieu of a response, the floor started to glow in the image of the Blue Moon Rune.

"_Noooo_!" Narl screamed as the blue-white light became overpowering.

**OOO**

Nash was still walking with a limp, as he turned and surveyed the raging inferno that was even then consuming Heller Manor. He wasn't sure who started it, and none of his men (never mind Sierra) was claiming responsibility for it... But then again, he figured it didn't matter very much. Considering that, even with Narl's 'death,' there were far darker and not entirely living things remaining in the Manor... (And here Nash shivered, his mind again drifting to that nightmare in the basement...) In all honestly, Nash was in no hurry to go back or risk his men trying to clear that hellish place out. _Let the fire take it: it never looked that good anyway..._

He turned his attention back to their 'guest.' She sat on the ground, encircled by all of Nash's soldiers, weapon forming a ring of steel around her. "Your name?" Nash asked.

"Tori," the werewolf girl answered, her eyes downcast and her dreadlocked hair in disarray.

"Why were you working for Narl? Why did you deliver all those girls to him?" Nash asked, getting directly to the point since learning that the wolf-_thing_ changed back into a scared looking young girl at night.

"He... He saved me, when everyone else died. I think he wanted to make me like them... the girls..." And here Nash couldn't help but shiver at his recollections of Narl's basement vampire harem. "But then he found out I was a werewolf. So he took care of me. And when I able to use my powers more freely, he told me I had to do things for him."

She folded her arms around herself. "Terrible things. And I said _no_, but then he did _something_, and I couldn't say no anymore..."

Nash glanced at Sierra. She nodded, once—mind-control _was _possible. It was rare, even among vampires, and it usually took time to get to full effect, but it could be done...

Nash took another look at their werewolf girl. She was still cradling herself, and was staring at nothing on the ground. She honestly looked like the most miserable and pathetic creature on the planet. Nash sighed. "Sergeant, put your pikes down. And cut her loose."

The sergeant arched an eyebrow, even as he directed his men to follow Nash's orders. "We're letting her go, then?"

Nash nodded. "The things she did weren't right... But then again I don't think she had much of a choice in the matter."

The sergeant easily cut the ropes binding her wrists, and she slowly stood up. Uneasily (remembering the last few times they had her encircled) the other soldiers backed off. She began to march off aimlessly in one direction—away from the town, headed for what looked like just... wilderness.

"I would suggest..." Sierra suddenly began out of the blue, "that you could start by heading south." Nash's eyebrow arched, but Sierra discreetly waved off his intervention. "I have heard tell of a town of kobolds that are quite amiable towards strangers. You could find them just south of the Two Rivers district of the Republic of Dunan."

Tori the werewolf girl simply nodded—gratitude for Sierra's kindness clear in her eyes—and began to walk off south.

Actually, the depth of kindness Sierra was showing here was lost on practically everybody but her. _That's my good deed for the century... _Sierra thought blithely, _assuming Bob is still hanging out down there..._ Her nose crinkled. Now she was playing werewolf matchmaker? Her association with Nash was leading her down strange new roads...

Once Tori was out of sight, Nash stretched. The loud popping and creaking were audible even to the non-vampires in the group. "Ah, _damn_," he started, "I think we've earned something of a rest after _this _mess." He rotated his arm slowly. "I feel like we were stuck in the hellhole for _months_!" He discreetly cast a glance at Sierra. Normally that would have been the point where she chimed in with something snappy/insulting, but she was oddly quiet.

"Sergeant, you and your men head back to town, okay?"

"Sir?" the sergeant asked.

"I just want to make sure that hellhole burns down all the way, that's all," Nash covered smoothly.

The sergeant nodded. Nash imagined he was feeling much the same way. "Sir. Move 'em out, men!" And so, in a tight three-three formation, Nash's men marched out for town. Sierra remained quiet, staring out at nothing and everything, it seemed.

Nash watched as Heller Manor burned for a while longer, before rocking back on his heels and casting a discreet glance over to Sierra. "So," Nash began, once the soldiers were out of earshot. "That could have gone better."

Sierra coughed lightly. "Yes... About that... Listen. There were..." She shifted. "I suppose—"

Before she could get much farther, Nash broke in again. "I mean, do you have any idea how _worried _I got when that werewolf lady some how managed to knock you out _and _abduct you?"

Sierra's expression flashed consternation. "Things could have—"

"I mean, golly," Nash interrupted again, suddenly turning and walking towards the town, "If I had known that was all part of a plan, I might not have rushed in after you, and nearly been eaten by a harem of basement vampire ladies! Not to mention the wave after wave of ghouls!"

Sierra was placed in the rare position of immediately trying to catch up. As she pulled up next to Nash, she was scowling openly. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry!" Sierra complained irritably.

"I know," Nash said sweetly, taking her hand as they walked along. "I just figured I'd make you _earn _my forgiveness."

Sierra's scowl deepened (if that was even possible), and she immediately dropped Nash's hand and hit him in the arm. "Ow!" he said.

"And I'm not sorry _for that_," Sierra declared as she quickened her pace.

But this time, Nash was prepared, and managed to dash in front of her. Sierra clearly hadn't been expected this, stumbling to a short stop. "What are you—?"

The question died on her lips as Nash almost brusquely enfolded her in a very passionate kiss. After, he rested his forehead on hers. "Hey," he said. "I'm glad you're okay, even if it was all according to your plan. Okay?"

"I—" Sierra began intelligently, for once completely and utterly speechless. "Yes. I'm glad you're not dead either," she offered, about as tender as she was capable of being. But Nash understood what she was trying to say, and it was enough.

"Well then," Nash started, entwining his arm with hers as they resumed walking. "What do you say we celebrate by heading back to town and telling Elder Edwin to stuff his pessimism and funeral arrangements where the sun don't shine?"


	7. Nash and the Dragon Grass, Pt 1

_Onward for Justice! Chapter Seven: Nash and the Dragon (Grass), Pt. 1_

A week or two later, Nash languidly opened his eyes. He was at 'home'—his posh new quarters in the Circle Palace. He yawned happily, before folding his arms behind his head. He cast a quick glance over to the other side of the bed—Sierra had apparently gotten up sometime before he did, leaving only rumpled blankets behind. Not that he was terribly troubled by this. In fact, he was making it point to not be too troubled by anything. 

The door to his quarters suddenly rattled, before Sierra unceremoniously walked in, a bundle under one arm, and a sheaf of papers in the opposite hand. "Oh. So you're finally awake," she deadpanned, before dropping all that she carried onto a counter near the kitchenette. 

"Ha," Nash started, unmoving from his reclining in bed, "that's funny coming from _you _of all people." He smirked. "I am but a poor pupil next to you, oh mistress of over sleeping!"

Sierra's eyes narrowed. "Oh so _funny_ this morning," she muttered darkly.

"Besides," Nash continued, "this is my vacation time, so I get to sleep in if I want to." 

He started to beam, reflecting on his debriefing with Sasarai. The look on the bishop's face as Nash recounted the events at Heller Manor had been something to see. As Sasarai had slowly lowered Nash's report, he had coughed uncomfortably. _Perhaps it would be best_, he had said, looking a bit pale, _if you take a few days off, Nash_. Yes Sasarai knew something strange had been occurring at the manor, but the full extent of what had been hiding there had taken him by complete surprise.

_A vampire? _Sas had asked in disbelief, only to frown a few minutes later. _How is it you were able to defeat him?_

Nash had stammered something about a rare rune scroll and a few discovered holy relics... It was a serviceable, if not perfect cover for 'my lady has a true rune and took care of business.' As Nash considered this, he frowned. For that matter, wasn't it only a matter of time before someone at the Circle Palace starting asking questions about the pale girl with which Nash spent so much time carousing?

He wasn't really sure what he was going to do about that, though. So far, Sierra had managed to straddle that line well enough—taking advantage of the fact that the Harmonian apparat fervently believed no true rune bearer would be so _audacious _enough as to hide under their own roof—that it was a non-issue. But if the truth about her true rune got around, he highly doubted that Sierra would appreciate becoming Hikusaak's permanent _guest_ in the Archbishop's quest for all 27 true runes...

This was definitely an issue they needed to discuss. "Hey, Sierra, what do you—" he began.

As waiting for him to start so that she could interrupt, Sierra interrupted. "Here," she said, picking up several of the pieces of paper from the counter, "These were both outside the door for you." She tossed them lightly over to Nash. 

He glanced down at the assorted letters and memos. "Listen, we need to—" he broke off as one of the notices caught his eye. "What the...?" he wondered, picking it up out of his lap. It was a gaudily covered invitation—purple with white trim, and carefully prepared calligraphy over it. As Nash read it, his more or less relaxed expression dissolved in an instant. 

Sierra, having returned to the kitchenette, was immediately aware of Nash's mood swing. "Nash?" she asked. "Problem?" When he didn't answer (or even take his eyes off the invitation in his hand) she marched over to him. "_Nash_," she repeated. 

His gaze dragged itself from the note only hesitantly. His expression immediately flashed irritation, but not at Sierra. "I can't _believe _her!" he declared suddenly. "Ah, the _nerve_!"

Sierra's brow furrowed. "_What_? What can't you believe?" she asked with a hint of annoyance in her voice. 

"Look at this!" Nash said heatedly, thrusting the invitation towards Sierra. "Just _look_!"

Sierra did as Nash instructed. "It's an invitation," Sierra said flatly after her examination. "I fail to see why this is distressing you."

"You're missing the subtext," Nash explained in a distracted-yet-scathing tone. "First of all, the fact that _she_ chose to send an invitation in the first place—and didn't talk to me personally even when she works just over in the palace's west offices—is her way of chastising me for not contacting her sooner." (It should be noted here, dear reader, that this is something of an exaggeration by Nash—considering the size of the Circle Palace, this would be comparable to complaining that she didn't contact him personally because she was on the other side of Manhattan—but the narrow side, not the long side.)

"_Who_?" Sierra asked.

"Lena!" Nash responded, as if the answer was completely and totally obvious. 

Sierra frowned. "Commander Suphina?" she asked. "Your aunt?"

Nash gave her a flat stare. "_Yeah_," he said, again like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He scanned the invitation again, then thrust a finger at one of the lines. "And here, _look_," he said, pointing to the first line. "To Envoy Clovis; you are cordially invited..." he read. "That's _another _snub!" 

"How does that make _any_ sense?" Sierra asked.

"She's identifying me _specifically, _but only as Envoy _Clovis_," he explained in a pained voice. "And that's basically Lena's way of saying 'way to run from your past, dumb-ass.'" 

He scanned the invitation further. "Ah-ha, and see, _here_," and he pointed to another line. "'An open invitation to you and _one guest_ for a night of conversation and dinner with Commander Suphina _and family_.' First of all, the 'you and one guest' bit means that she knows I'm seeing someone, and she's pretty super pissed off that I haven't introduced you. And that leads to _two_: a 'night of conversation and dinner,' which is just her way of saying that she's just going to be bitching me out about all my failings up to and after working as Sasarai's pet spy. Why? Because, _three_, Lena has no _real _family, except for me and Julie, so the 'and family' bit means Julie _is_ going to be there, and_ she'll_ want to know why I ran off like I did!"

Sierra's expression was blank. "Your sister?" she asked.

Nash raked a hand through his hair. "Yeah, my sister. And my 'aunt.' Together, to tag team me over dinner."

Sierra said nothing for a long moment. Finally, she broke into an impish smile. "I would _love_ to meet your family, Nash."

The look on Nash's face was priceless. Once his slack-jaw horror had passed, he immediately switched to damage control mode. "What? No, no you wouldn't be interested in anything like that," he started.

Sierra, meanwhile, sat down on the edge of the bed. "Oh but I _would_! It sounds absolutely _lovely_, in fact!"

Nash's expression was flat. "Sometimes I really hate you."

Sierra seemed to preen. "Oh I know," she answered playfully. "So, when shall we go? I'm just _dying _to meet your relatives. How about tomorrow evening? Hmmm?"

Nash seemed trapped... until his eye caught another of the letters. "Ah!" he said, sounding far too excited. "Looks like Sasarai wants me for something!" he declared happily as he dashed from the bed. Normally Nash would have been distressed with the abrupt end to his vacation; instead, he didn't think he had ever been so happy to see Sasarai's tiny and neat if slightly blocky handwriting. 

"Can't keep him waiting!" he said, as he dashed towards the door.

Sierra expression was dry. "You _do _realize you're only in your boxers right now, right?"

Nash stopped dead, one hand only inches from the door handle. "I was wondering why I was suddenly so cold..."

"Very suave, Nash," Sierra muttered, as she stalked off to another part of their quarters. 

**OOO**

"Ah, Nash, come in," Sasarai called from his desk. 

"Bishop Sasarai," Nash acknowledged, as he slipped into the chair across from the desk.

Sasarai wore a wan smile. "Terribly sorry to cut your vacation short, Nash," he started, handing Nash a sheaf of papers, "but army command was insistent that this mission needed to go forward immediately."

Nash quickly read through the notes. "Is this serious?" Nash asked. 

Sasarai nodded. "Quite." The bishop stood up, turning to face the large map tacked up behind his desk. "Intra-Governmental Joint Mission 252: Code named 'Dragon Grass,'" Sasarai said, quoting the dossier in Nash's hand word for word. "Infiltrate the Republic of Toran and retrieve a sample of the plant known locally as Moonlight Weed from the area known as Seek Valley." 

"And what does this 'dragon grass' _do, _exactly?" Nash asked, sounding dubious. 

Retaking his seat, Sasarai leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. "Used properly, dragon grass has the ability to reverse coma-like state in dragons." Sasarai coughed. "Used improperly..." there was a certain glint in Sas' eyes, "it can _induce _them."

Nash's eyebrow arched—the tactical advantage for Harmonia was obvious. "Why is this coming up now?" he asked. 

"There have been..." and here Sasarai's expression scrunched up, "_rumblings _of big changes coming for the Dragon Knights," he explained. 

"Big changes?" Nash pressed.

Sasarai held up a hand. "Don't concern yourself too much with the details. Suffice it to say, the 'Knights may find themselves facing a massive reorganization, and we'd just like to be prepared for any contingency."

"Are you expecting a war?" Nash asked bluntly.

Sasarai smirked at his directness. "We're always expecting a war—you know that, Nash. But at this point, we're more interested in making sure that Harmonia is prepared for any threat the future may bring..."

The bishop looked considering. "...And," he added after a moment, "Army command believes that this time of... _transition_ may provide an ample opportunity for us in this endeavor."

"Ah," Nash said, folding his arms. "I get it now. The knights are going to be distracted with whatever it is that's going on down there, so the army brass thinks now is the perfect time to get what they always wanted, just in case they ever have to go toe to toe with them."

Sasarai's expression was decidedly neutral. "Well, I'm glad we're all on the same page, then," neither confirming nor denying Nash's theory. "I've arranged for a carriage to get you to Eastport, and booked passage for you on a ship from Eastport to Shasarazade." He handed Nash another sheaf of paper. "Here are the army's notes about Seek Valley, the 'Knights, and Moonlight Weed in general. I suggest you spend the two weeks or so you're at sea memorizing them. You'll have to leave tonight—the longer we delay, the larger chance we miss our opportunity."

"Believe me," Nash as, as both stood and shook hands, "I have never been this excited about taking off on a long term mission before."

**OOO**

"So what did that silly bishop want from you this time?" Sierra asked, sounding disinterested as she picked her way through another trashy romance novel.

"I'm on a mission," Nash answered automatically, as he moved to his dresser and pulled open a drawer. 

"Already?" she asked, interest almost piqued. "That quickly?"

"I've got a long way to go, love," he answered, as he started to fill a rucksack with clothes and the tools of the trade he was so known for.

"Oh, that's nice," she answered, interest having passed in favor of that novel again. "Do you know when you'll be back?" And here her wicked smile came out again. "I want to know when to tell Commander Suphina to expect us for dinner."

"Oh," Nash started, sounding non-plussed, "I guess in about..." he frowned for effect. "I'd say about maybe just under two months."

_That _stopped Sierra cold, and she looked up sharply. "_Excuse _me?" she asked.

"Maybe more, depending on how badly the Toran winter is going to be..." He glanced absently over to Sierra. "You've been in Toran during the winter, right? What do you think?"

Sierra narrowed her eyes. "That bishop is sending you to _Toran_? Whatever for?"

And so Nash casually related the details to her. After, Sierra seemed outraged, but not for the reasons Nash may have been expected. "That damnable little _runt _of a bishop!" she railed. "How does he manage to _always _get in the way?" she demanded of no one in particular.

"I know," Nash mock-agreed, tossing up his hands, "I don't understand it either!" He shrugged broadly for effect. "But what can I do? I _have _to follow orders!" Nash ducked as Sierra threw that romance novel at his head. He only smiled, for things had worked out too perfectly (even with the threat of blunt force head trauma).

"So, are you coming with me?" he asked, as he tied off his rucksack.

"Bah!" Sierra declared, "I don't suppose it occurred to you to give me a little more warning?" she demanded as she stalked over to the closet and began gather her things.

Nash shrugged again. "It had crossed my mind, but I was having too much fun torturing you."

As Sierra finished packing, she clucked her tongue. "Well, I suppose I _could_ forgive you," Sierra said, sounding oddly sweet. "And I suppose I have a _few _ideas about what we could do to pass the time on the boat..." she said, trailing off deliciously as she twirled around to face Nash.

Nash blinked, before a slow smile spread across his lips. "I should get you mad at me more often."

**OOO**

Despite it grandiose name, the Dragon's Den—at first glance—was little more than a large, plain granite building. Unadorned, it was as likely to inspire one to think of 'eye sore' than 'imposing fortress.' Even nestled among the mighty mountains of western Toran did little to make the building live up to its impressive name. The smallish town of relatives and support staff surrounding it didn't help either. 

Or at least that would be the case if one simply stopped at the surface. The massive stone building was simply the topping of an interconnected series of rooms, caverns, and pathways—some natural, some man-made, some dragon-made—running through much of the local mountain chain. The true scope, if one could see just under the surface, was really quite impressive. With dragons and their riders lumbering through these caverns, the Dragon's Den earned its name in nearly every other way.

Unfortunately this was all lost on our two leads. "This place is... less impressive than I was expecting," Nash said, struggling to remain diplomatic. 

It had been three weeks since that night of hurried packing—two weeks by sea to the Toran Republic, one week across its lake and countryside to the Dragon's Den. Nash had enjoyed nearly the entire trip: Sierra aside (oh-ho-ho!), this was his first trip to Toran, and he acted every bit the tourist—_Oh! Gregiminster! Lake Toran! Scarleticia Castle!_

Sierra, however, didn't bother mincing words. "It looks just as much as a dump as I remember." She shifted. "Sauronix is far more impressive..." she added, sounding every bit the world weary traveler. (Actually there was a funny story about how she had become familiar with Sauronix, but in her sour mood she didn't feel like sharing.)

"That's nice," Nash said before starting forward, quickly trying to readjust his baggy robes. 

"Remind me again why you're wearing that ridiculous outfit?" Sierra asked disdainfully.

"All part of my brilliant plan, I assure you," Nash answered, quickly readjusting the tiny pair of reading glasses perched on his nose. Then he nearly tripped on one of his own hems. 

"Yes. _Brilliant_," Sierra dead-panned. "They're in trouble now," she muttered.

"Hey," he protested, adjusting the large belt around his waist. The black-smithery tools dangling from the belt jingled loudly. "This _is _a brilliant plan, and you know it!" He resumed his pace towards the main gate. "I just wished you had gone along with it. I had a great outfit all picked out already." His little touristy shopping trips in Gregiminster had apparently a more serious undercurrent to them (or at least that was what he was going to claim if anyone pressed him on the issue...).

She scoffed. "I hardly have need of a _disguise _to make it to this 'Seek Valley,' Nash." She stopped, scoffing again. "In fact, I've had enough of this farce. _If _you manage to make it, I'll see you on the other side." 

Nash turned and watched as she transformed into a bat, before she shot off to vanish among the mountain tops (already themselves falling into shadow as night edged ever close). "You're not being very supportive of your man!" Nash shouted after her, shaking his fist. After a moment, he sighed. "Ugh," he said, "and turning into a bat is so totally cheating..." he muttered, before turning back and marching directly for the entrance.

The entrance was guarded by two junior dragon knights, but there was something of a crowd milling in and out of the fortress and they paid Nash no heed. In fact, Nash thought as he crossed the main foyer, there were a lot of people milling about—a lot more than he expected, at any rate. And they all seemed so... _down_. Not one smile in the group... 

Nash tried not to think about it. Whatever was going on with the Dragon Knights, it was apparently having a major effect on the locals, though... 

Trying to clear his mind and 'inhabit' his role, Nash continued on through the foyer and entrance hall of the Dragon's Den. Normally, Nash hated disguises. But Seek Valley—so isolated by high mountain peaks surrounding it—would be next to impossible for him to breech on foot. The only way in would be by the air, but as Nash had not suddenly sprouted wings overnight, that meant asking nicely for the Dragon Knights to fly him over... And no, the irony was not lost on Nash. 

This normally would have killed the plan—no matter how nicely he asked, the Dragon Knights were not in the practice of flying just _anybody_ into Seek Valley. No, Seek Valley was a restricted area—as established by the Toran government and policed by the 'Knights—considering that it was the only place Moonlight Weed could grow.

One might be wondering at this point why the Dragon Knights didn't just try to destroy all the Moonlight Weed they could find, if it was such a security risk. (Nash had the exact same question almost immediately after he accepted the mission.) According to the Harmonian army brass' research, Moonlight Weed (scientific name: _Lorimoid Nocturna_)—if used in the proper (small) quantities—was invaluable as a general tranquilizer for rowdy dragons and a key aide in the rare case of dragon-surgery. Like any medicine, if used correctly it was instrumental in furthering health, and if not... Well, there was a reason that Seek Valley was cordoned off, after all. And why Harmonia was so interested in getting past that cordon. 

Anyway, the notes from the military brass had also clued Nash into another interesting tidbit about Seek Valley. The only people that the 'Knights would even consider flying special into the valley were blacksmiths, as Seek Valley had the unique distinction of being the retirement home of the great Toran master blacksmith Mace. Although one of his pupils had long since taken over his role as 'master,' it was said that Mace still occasionally took on pupils to train. He had managed to work out some deal with the knights to fly those pupils in (though the deeper parts of the valley were said to be fenced off). And Nash knew that was going to be his best (and probably only) chance. If he could just _get _to the Valley, he stood a half-decent chance of managing to slip past any security. 

Nash wandered through the expansive entrance hall for a while longer, finally cornering a lone dragon knight. "Excuse me," he began, doing his best to project nervousness and a weak sort of confidence at the same time, "I sent word ahead. I'm a blacksmith apprentice, and I'm trying—"

"Ah, you've come at a horrible time," the knight said, sounding aggrieved.

Nash blinked. "Is something wrong here?" Nash found himself asking before he could even consider not to.

"Commander Joshua..." the knight began, before seemingly being overcome with grief. "No, never mind. Come, let's get you over with the others."

Nash's expression froze in a grimace. "_Others_?" he asked, before taking a giant gulp. Suddenly his brilliant plan didn't seem so brilliant anymore...

"Yes," the knight answered. "You did want to get to Seek Valley, right?" he asked. "You're the apprentice that wanted to seek Master Mace's tutelage, right?" Nash nodded. "Right. Well, it just so happens that there's another group of blacksmiths headed in the same direction." The knight suddenly looked tired. "And lucky for you," he continued, seriously. "My superiors were hesitant to grant you passage alone, especially with... _things _like they are with... the commander... But those other blacksmiths are old allies of ours, and they were willing to vouch for you," the knight winked, "blacksmith to blacksmith, I guess."

Nash tried to suppress that guilty feeling in his stomach. "How nice..."

"Well, come on. Our air patrol is just about to head out—it wouldn't be good to get you left behind, eh?" Nash nodded weakly. _Oh man, maybe Sierra was right..._

The dragon knight led Nash to the roof of the Dragon's Den, where a knight rode shotgun on a massive dragon's shoulders. Behind him was a massive wicker basket, and Nash could just see the head and shoulders of about four others inside. The dragon knight at Nash's side suddenly laced his fingers. "Up ya go," he said, gesturing with his laced hands that he would boost. 

Despite his sudden apprehension, Nash gamely placed his boot down on the knight's laced hands, and started to pull himself up into the basket. Unfortunately, as he tried to straddle the lip of the basket, his long robes got in the way again. "Waaa!" he yelped suddenly, as he went tumbling to the bottom of the carrier basket. 

"Ho, there!" one of the men—wearing yellow and a disheveled beard—said. "It looks like our apprentice has arrived!" He bent down to help Nash pick himself off the bottom of the basket. "Here there... There ya go!" he encouraged, once Nash was half-standing and half-sitting on one of the basket's benches. 

After quickly doffing his cap and using it to help dust Nash off, the man in yellow extended his hand. "Hey there. Good to meet you. I'm Moose."

Nash took Moose's hand. "Hello," he said a little shaky. "I'm Clo—" Nash started, before catching himself. He _had _been about to introduce himself as 'Clovis. Nash Clovis." But that wasn't going to work—it was unlikely, but distantly possible, that could get traced back to Harmonia. Nash bit down on his tongue. It was going to take some quick thinking to get out of it... "Er... Arash. Clo Arash," he finished lamely. 

No one in the party of blacksmiths seemed to notice the absurdness of the name. "Clo Arash?" Moose asked, to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Sure..." Nash said unenthusiastically.

"Clo, good to meet ya," Moose explained. "Well, let's finish introductions, then—Clo, meet Maas, our youngest member here."

The boy in blue waved sheepishly. "Howdy."

"And that's Meese, our resident grump," Moose said, pointing to the man with the sharp eyes.

Meese nodded. "Oh yes, very grumpy." He raised his hands and play acted pouncing like a monster. "Roar, and such."

Moose then slapped the knee of the man sitting next to him, dressed in an oddly eye-catching pink/scarlet. "And this lunk of a displaced family man is Mose, Toran's current master blacksmith!" Moose explained happily.

"Ah, Moose, don't rub it in," Mose protested. 

Meese sidled up to Nash. "Don't let Mose get to you—he's just a little morose about missing his family." Meese pantomimed a whipping motion. "That Ronnie's got him so whipped you wouldn't _believe _it! And their little daughter is even worse! They've both got him wrapped around their little fingers! It was nearly impossible to convince him to come out on this little reunion trip."

"Hey!" Mose protested.

"There, there," Moose said, patting Mose on the shoulder. "I know the truth hurts."

In lieu of a response, Mose leaned back over the lip, and tapped the dragon knight on the shoulder. "We're all set back here!" he called.

And then Nash experienced his very first dragon ride. 

"Waaaaaaaah!"

**OOO**

By the time their dragon had made it over Seek Valley, Nash had more or less acclimated to the ride. It was surprisingly smooth, all things considered—except for the free falling, stomach-goes-to-the-roof-of-mouth feeling he got whenever the dragon made a sweeping turn. 

The point was that Nash had recovered enough so that he could appreciate the view. He started wordlessly down at the odd crystals which dominated the canyon below him. "I've never seen anything quite like it..." Nash said. Sasarai's research notes had included a description (as well as a few boring theories about the how's and why's of the crystal growth) but nothing could match seeing it in person. 

And then from the corner of his eye he spotted a white blur and couldn't help but smile. 

Maas noticed the smile, but misunderstood the cause. "Yeah! I know! I was that excited the first time I got this close to training with Master Mace!"

"Oh yes!" Meese agreed. After a moment, his expression brightened as he thought of an idea. "If you plan to train with Master Mace, you'll have to go through the initiation!" Meese added, his sharp eyes twinkling.

"It's really not that bad!" Maas tried to assure Nash. He then suddenly had a star-struck look in his eyes. "Why, I remember _my _initiation like it was yesterday!" he declared, throwing one arm around Nash's shoulder. "The endless roar of the furnace! Master Mace rapping my back with that bamboo pole as I hammered away during my first weapon tempering! Those three straight sleepless days where I had to tend to the charcoal!" He sighed happily. "I've never felt more in tune with metal in my life!" His expression turned considering. "_Even _if it took like a month for me to recover completely. _Man_, I could barely _walk_ right afterwards."

"B-barely walk?" Nash stammered.

"Oh yes," Mose added, "the path of a blacksmith is a difficult one, one that requires the absolute focus of both body and mind." Mose slapped Nash's other shoulder. "You, m'boy, should be grateful! You're about to embark on the greatest journey a blacksmith can take!" He suddenly looked misty eyed. "You'll look back on the _pain_, and the _scars_, and the _steam burns_, and the muscles so sore they can barely _move_ as some of the best times in your life!"

Nash stared blankly at the four blacksmiths, suddenly all misty eyed. _They can't be serious..._ When none of them broke from their reverie, there was a sinking feeling in Nash's stomach. _They're completely serious, aren't they?_

And for a moment, Nash peaked over the side of the basket and wondered what his chances were if he jumped...


	8. Nash and the Dragon Grass, Pt 2

_This chapter kind of ballooned on me... __Chapter Eight: Nash and the Dragon (Grass), Pt. 2_

When we last left Nash, his brilliant plan of dressing like an apprentice blacksmith to infiltrate the isolated Seek Valley had backfired when he was shanghaied by _actual _Toran blacksmiths... all of who were absolutely _thrilled_ about initiating Nash. Unfortunately, this entails weeks upon weeks of intense physical and mental labor, which would leave Nash scarred, burned, and unable to support his own weight for a while.

Could Nash talk his way out of this fate?

Would Sierra intervene to prevent this tragedy? (Or would she be far more interested in watching a sweaty and half-naked Nash work a forge!)

Oh how oh how would Nash extract himself from weeks of hard labor in a blacksmith's forge?

"Whoops!" Nash declared, as he quickly unhooked the hammer from his belt and tossed it over the side of the basket, "I just accidentally dropped my hammer over the side of the dragon!" Fortunately, his companions were all so enamored of the hard luck life of a blacksmith that they hadn't noticed his motion.

"What?" they asked all at once. Of them, Mose seemed the most composed. "You've dropped your hammer?" he pressed. Nash nodded, trying his best to act sheepish and embarrassed. Mose shook his head. "M'boy, the hammer is the blacksmith's most _important_ tool. Without it, we are as nothing." Mose turned and tapped the armored shoulder of the dragon knight.

The dragon suddenly dropped into one of its sloping turns. "You're going to have to go down and get it," Mose explained.

Nash nodded mutely, doing his best to look contrite and not relieved.

Mose then spent the rest of the descent down conferring with the other blacksmiths. As the dragon touched down, Maas and Meese helped Nash up and over the edge of the basket. "Get down there, be careful, but find that hammer!" Mose called. "And remember, as punishment, you'll have to hike the rest of the way," Mose decreed.

"He's going easy on you," Moose advised, slapping Nash on his back again. "Just think about it as part of your initiation."

"Initiation, yeah..." Nash echoed as he leaped down from the dragon.

As Nash watched the dragon winged away (waving at Meese, who was clearly trying to root him on), he quickly tore off the robes he had been wearing. "Well, _that _was surprisingly easy..." he said to himself.

Suddenly there was a flurry of wings, and Nash turned to see Sierra just touching down and reverting back to human form. Stretching her arms and tossing her hair, she walked over to Nash, who for his part was already making sure his gear and bodysuit were all in proper order. "I hate to admit it," Sierra began, "and I'm not sure _how _you managed, but..." She calmly folded her arms, slipping them in under her cloak. "It looks like you did..."

"That's more like it," he said, straightening up and dusting of his bodysuit one last time. "I told you I had absolutely everything under control on this—"

There was an odd whistling noise, accompanied by the sound of something large approaching.

"What was that?" Nash asked immediately, tensing slightly and one hand hovering near his belt knife.

"_Oh_," Sierra began in mock surprise. "Look at that. I suppose I spoke too soon," Sierra deadpanned, as a strange orb-creature crested the hill. It seemed to be made of living blue crystal, and had a half dozen crystal fragments twirling around it at a slow pace.

"What on earth...?" Nash asked, taking a step forward and peering closer.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Sierra advised.

Nash, of course, ignored her and took another step. Suddenly, the luminescent core of the crystal being flashed red, and the fragments circling it started to spin faster.

"Looks like you've done it now," Sierra declared.

In response, the crystal guardian flung one of its orbiting crystals at Nash. He narrowed avoided being crushed by the surprisingly large chunk, leaping back at the last moment. "Yeowch!"

Then the guardian advanced, hovering easily down the slope.

"Ah, _hell_," Nash said, "I know _exactly_ where this is going..."

"I'm glad you finally caught on," Sierra murmured, as she faded into a bank of mist. "I'd suggest you get a move on, then," her ethereal and disembodied voice recommended.

As the crystal guardian sped down the slope (revealing to Nash its terrifyingly large size) he did exactly that. Turning and bolting, Nash made a break for what he hoped would be the relative shelter of a large bank of crystals. "Nothing's ever _simple _in this line of work, is it?" he demanded rhetorically.

Nash dashed in between the tree-like growths of crystal. After a few dozen feet, he slowed to a stop, panting. "Whew." He glanced back to watch the crystal guardian's next move... ...which was remarkably similar to its last move. Without any perceptible slowing, the guardian slammed into the crystal forest. Shards went flying everywhere, but the guardian didn't even seem to notice.

"Aw, come _on_!" Nash shouted, before turning and resuming his fleeing.

And so the chase was on, through the winding (and dangerous) corridors of the crystal forest. Remember, we are talking about crystal here. "Ow!" Nash cursed, having nicked his cheek after awkwardly pirouetting around a low hanging 'spur.'

The crystal forest thinned somewhat, only this wasn't as good news as one would think, because it just meant the terrain was getting rockier and the tiny paths Nash sped along got... well, _tinier_. And inexorably, the crystal guardian continued its pursuit.

"Do you want my help?" Sierra asked, as she hovered along in a sitting position above as Nash struggled along the narrow crystal trails.

Nash frowned at her. "What, so you can lord this over me for the next decade? No thanks!"

The two were silent as Nash continued his flight, the only sounds the pounding of Nash's boots, the scattering of pebbles from the trail, Nash's panting, and the light wind whipping through the valley. Oh, yeah, and the crashing noises of the guardian's pursuit. Can't forget that.

"Nash, watch out!" Sierra suddenly called, from her hovering perch in the sky.

"Wha—erk!" Nash came up short—the narrow path he had been following terminated suddenly in a sheer rock face. The valley had apparently cracked open at this point—the rest of the path continued along as if nothing had happened across a gap of about six and a half yards away and a foot or three lower. Nash glanced down—it was a _long _drop, and at the bottom of the cleft were what was clearly jagged pieces of crystal, almost looking like a beautiful river under the moonlight...

And behind him was the ever closing crystal guardian.

"Here goes nothing!"

"Nash?" Sierra asked warily... only to watch as Nash took a deep breath, took a few steps back, and ran full tilt towards the edge of the cliff. "Nash!"

With one mighty leap, Nash kicked off from the cliff's edge, bicycling his legs and arms as he flew through the air towards the far side of the gap. At the height of his jump, he hastily eyeballed and fired his grappling hook. It sank into the rock face with a satisfying _schnk_.

And with something that sounded remarkably like a tarzan yell, Nash swung dramatically across the ravine. For a moment, it was a sight to behold—Nash, hair waving in the breeze, heroic grin on his face, the moonlight framing him...

Of course, he had misjudged where his hook had needed to go. This meant the line went taut a bit too soon, wrenching his grappling gear free from the line. The net result was that instead of hopping off the end of the line lightly, Nash awkwardly flew through the air, before tumbling head over heels. He finally skidded to a stop about two feet later.

Nash craned his neck around, staring back at the face side of the ravine. Behind him, the crystal guardian hovered ominously at the cliff's edge. Its red glow finally diffused (apparently finding Nash finally too much work to bother with), and it silently turned back the way it came. He let out the breath he hadn't realize he'd been holding in a whoosh of relief. "Thank goodness..." he declared, head sinking back to the ground.

"And how are we feeling?" Sierra asked mockingly, hovering just above where Nash lay amid the debris and rocks.

He defiantly shot an arm up, index finger extended as if pointed to the sky. "I still have everything under control!" he declared.

"It's brave that you can still think that..." Sierra said, as she settled to the ground and began to crouched down to where Nash lay. And then almost as an afterthought, Sierra patted his head. "My poor _deluded_ little swordsman..." she said in what barely constituted as a comforting tone.

**OOO**

About an hour later, Nash and Sierra followed a small trail around a bend, only to see a high wooden fence cordoning off the peak of a cliff. The only way in and out was a heavy duty gate at the base of the hill. And a solitary guard in front of that gate. Nash immediately dropped into full spy mode, crouching and stealthily approaching the gate, pausing only behind a low rise.

Nash recognized the guard, after a moment. He was a few years older—a bit more gangly, even as he paradoxically seemed to be to be more muscled and tougher—but it was still him. "Futch..." Nash said to himself. He then almost looked around for Sir Humphrey—the two had practically been inseparable for so long. _Wonder where he got off to... _The oversized blade strapped awkwardly to Futch's back seemed to be the only answer, and even it wasn't a very good one...

"You know him?" Sierra inquired, crouching next to Nash.

Nash nodded. "We ran into each other a while back." He shrugged. "Fight a wild dragon, save a town, you know, the usual."

Futch was pacing back and forth in front of the wooden fence's single gate. He looked concerned. His dragon Bright—half again as big as Futch himself by now—hovered behind him. "But... Ah, I don't _know_, Bright! I should be there! Milia... Commander Joshua... We're like a family, right? And this is the time they need me most!" he protested to no one in particular.

Bright made some appropriately consoling noises, bowing his head. "I know, Bright. I know," Futch sighed, kicking at the gravel path he paced on. "A dragon knight has to attend to the duties he's assigned, even if he doesn't like them..." His expression blanched. "_Especially _7th rank knights trying to get their 6th degree ranking..."

He crouched down. "It's still sucks, though," he said sulkily. Bright mewled in agreement, before settling down to the ground and nuzzling the back of Futch's hand.

Nash figured that was enough eavesdropping—he already had a lot of new information to mull. _Something's up with CommanderLevenheit... And judging by the looks of the people back at the Dragon's Den, there's apparently a chance he's not going to be around for much longer..._

Nash frowned. Every bit more he heard seemed to tell him that the situation was more and more serious than Sasarai was letting on... _I think... I think I need to think this one out for another few minutes_. Nash slowly started to edge backwards... and promptly tripped backwards over a low bush.

The next think Nash knew, he was laying flat on his back, sending rubble—_audibly_—scattering. Sierra, looking only slightly concerned hovered over him. _Wonder what the chances are that Futch and Bright missed that noise? _he wondered. Then he watched as Sierra's head snapping back suddenly at motion near the gate. _Probably not good..._ Nash waved her off with a hand motion: _go, go_. Sierra did as she was bade, fading into mist and vanishing.

As slowly and as quietly as he could, Nash snaked his way back from the rise, struggling to find shelter in a small copse of bushes. But then he froze as something came over the rise while he was still exposed. It was Bright. Looking even more gangly than Futch (adolescence hit dragons harder than it ever would people) Bright cocked his head to one side as he stared at Nash.

Nash held his breath. All it would take would be one squawk from Bright and then he'd be put in the very awkward position of trying to explain what he was doing in a restricted area to his one-time comrade Futch. _Good dragon, nice dragon_... he though to himself, as if by simply thinking it he could keep Bright from blowing his position.

Well, _something _must have worked, for Bright only gave the equivalent of a dragon smile and flew down on his awkward little wings to nuzzle Nash. _Heh, guess he still likes me_. Against his better judgment, Nash playfully scratched under Bright's chin.

"Bright, what's going on?" Futch called.

With an 'urk!' Nash froze; Bright immediately perked and, with a twist of his wings, he rose back a bit into the air, 'barking' happily to Futch. _Hey, look, it's our old friend! ..._At which point Nash frantically shook his head and waved his hands in an emphatic 'no.' Bright gave him a confused look, before again turning towards Futch's voice still calling him.

"Bright?" Futch repeated. Then Nash heard the dreaded noise of his boots crossing from the fence to his hiding place... only to be distracted by the swift sound of dragon wings beating. Nash looked up to watch as a dragon knight swoop in next to Futch. _Scratch that... _two _dragon knights_... Nash thought.

Futch's expression displayed his inner turmoil. Torn once again between his feelings—wanting to be there when Joshua stepped down, wanting to check on what had Bright so excited—and his duties—guard duty at an isolated, low risk outpost, reporting to a senior knight—Futch hesitated halfway between the gate and Nash's hiding place. Finally, with a sigh, he grudgingly turned back and walked towards the recently arrived dragon knights.

Fortunately, Futch was rewarded for his unwavering dedication to duty. "Knight Futch," the first dragon knight explained, "you're been summoned back to the den."

Nash couldn't see the expression on Futch's face, but... judging by the tension that drained out of his shoulders, relief wouldn't have been a bad guess. Futch whistled once (clearly in a hurry); Bright perked up again, then (with a little encouragement and a nod from Nash) darted off towards Futch.

Shimming back up to the rise, Nash watched as Futch climbed on to the first knight's dragon (Bright's wings flapping furiously to keep pace) then flew back towards the den. The second knight had taken up Futch's sentry position in front of the giant gate.

"Whew," Nash began. "And now we're back to square one."

"Would you like me to... _distract _the guard for you?" Sierra asked sweetly, rematerializing next to Nash.

Nash gave her a curt head shake, followed by an odd look. "You know, you've been trying to be oddly helpful during this mission."

Sierra's answer was to blush. "I-I am _not_," she protested.

She was, and her attempt at a denial only confirmed that for Nash. _I guess she's still feeling a bit guilty about that whole mess in the mansion_... Aloud he said, "No, I've got this one. Watch and learn."

Nash grabbed one of the larger pieces of crystal near where he crouched. Testing its weight with a few experimental tosses, he seemed satisfied. With no further warning, Nash flung the rock as hard as he could at the far left side of the fence. The dragon knight noticed immediately, and slowly walked over to where the sound originated. Nash took that as his cue to hop from his hiding place and go running, in a crouch, to the fence. Once at the fence, he easily picked his way up along a rocky slope, then leaped for the fence.

Defying Sierra's expectations, he made it. For a second he hung there, fully extended, only hanging from the top of the fence by the tips for his fingertips. And then with a grunt he pulled himself up, feet kicking and scrabbling as he made for the top. And then he perched on the edge of the wooden posts and looked down at the other side, and realized that his plan wasn't nearly as perfect as he imagined.

He cast a backwards look back where the knight had been (still puzzling over where that noise had magically come from). He watched as the knight straightened and was about to turn back towards him... _Crap! _He cast another look down the opposite side of the fence, cringed again as he realized how much this was going to hurt, and jumped.

Nash landed with a thud, tumbling head over heels. But something soft had broken his fall. He rested there for a long moment, heart thudding in his chest as he wondered if the fence's gate would swing open. Maybe he hadn't made the jump quick enough. Maybe the dragon knight was a bit brighter than he at supposed...

In the end, none of that happened, and he slowly sat up... only to realize what had broken his fall was a lush field, blue-green in the moonlight of what could only be Moonlight Weed. After everything he had been through, he felt like letting out a whoop of joy... but that might have tipped the knight just on the other side of the fence.

So instead he carefully began gathering up the most eye-catching tufts of Moonlight Weed.

After about fifteen minutes, Sierra appeared at the top of the hill. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass as she watched Nash carefully. "Well you did it," she said, a very (_very_) tiny hint of congratulations in her voice.

"Yeah," Nash answered quietly, staring down at the grass (carefully bound with twine) in his hand.

"Something wrong?" she inquired, standing and taking a few short steps.

"Maybe," he answered evasively. He walked to the peak of the hill, still staring down at the bundle. He took a deep breath.

And without warning, he untied the twine and let the grass fall from his fingers. "We can't take this back with us," Nash declared suddenly.

"We can't _what_?" Sierra asked, watching as the grass scattered on the slight breeze.

"The situation with the knights..." he started slowly. "It's isn't just some _reorganization_ like Sasarai said... Their _leadership_ is in _crisis_," he elaborated. "Commander Levenheit—I haven't gotten the full story, but I know that he's not going to be _knight commander_ for very much longer.

He looked distracted for a moment, staring off toward the distant sunrise. "Maybe I'll come back," Nash began, "_If _Harmonia's survival depends on it. But otherwise..." He slowly opened his fingers, letting the grass catch the wind and be carried off back to the canyon. "This is too dangerous for Harmonia to control right now."

"Is this the point where you say something cliché like, 'I play by my own rules, and then sometimes Harmonia's?'" Sierra asked tiredly.

Nash offered her a grin. "Do you _want _me to?"

Instead, Sierra sighed. "So then, what shall we tell them? That we were just unable to find any Moonlight Weed, or that the Toran Republic had the entire valley locked up?"

Nash shook his head at the second option. "No way. Not only will that damage my reputation—what kind of spy would I be if I couldn't get into places that opposing governments didn't want me in?—but that'll just encourage Harmonia to try again with _more_ spies."

He folded his arms, his eyes on the distant horizon in the direction the grass had blown. "As far as we could determine," he began slowly, "as a precaution the Dragon Knights had razed all the patches of Moonlight Weed. And, as it has a notoriously long growing cycle..." He turned back to Sierra. "We won't have to worry about this nonsense for at least another ten years." He thought back to how Sasarai had stressed that the mission had to be taken _sooner _rather than _later_. "Or at all, if we're lucky." He shrugged. "So much for Operation Dragon Grass," he added in a maudlin tone.

"And Sasarai and the other bishops will buy that story because...?" Sierra asked dubiously.

"Because Harmonia expects every other nation on the planet to be as paranoid as they are," Nash explained seriously. "Hell, if Sasarai were in Lepant's shoes," and here Nash paused, overcome for a moment by the absurd image of diminutive Sasarai clumping around in Lepant's giant boots, "If he were in President Lepant's shoes, that probably would have been one of the first three things he did as president."

Nash folded his arms. "Actually, Sasarai probably won't press the issue at all," Nash continued. At Sierra's arched eyebrow, he spread his hands. "Sas was bending over backwards in our meeting to let me know that this was primarily a mission for the _army_.

"Now, I don't know how much you know about Harmonian politics, but, put lightly, the military and the bishops don't always get along on the best terms." His expression blanched. "The bishops have jurisdiction over the army, which the army doesn't like. And the bishops dislike it when the army tries to assert itself with little missions like this. Now, Sas is too polite to admit it, but he won't be crying any tears if an army sponsored mission like this falls through."

"So, what you're basically telling me is that we've wasted the last few weeks on this wild dragon chase?" Sierra asked tiredly. "_And _missed a perfectly good terribly embarrassing dinner with your family?"

Nash folded his hands behind his head. "Ah, don't put it that way, Sierra. At least we got to play tourist for a while on the government's dime."

"What would be the other two things?" Sierra asked after a moment.

"Hmm?" Nash asked, distractedly.

"The two other things Sasarai would have done in President Lepant's place?" she elaborated.

"Locking General McDohl and the Soul Eater in the deepest dungeon on hand, and executing Minister Sanchez." At Sierra's slightly (and surprisingly) shocked expression, Nash shrugged. "Heroes are dangerous if they're left free to roam on their own, and Harmonia takes treason very seriously."

Nash clapped, suddenly far too chipper. "Okay! So, do you have any idea how we're getting out of here?" he asked.

Sierra's expression darkened. "Oh, you _must _be kidding," she said in a warning tone. When Nash shook his head, clucked her tongue. "I _tried _to be helpful, but you rebuffed me at every opportunity!" she fumed. "You can figure your own way back!" she declared, transforming back into the white bat in seconds.

"Oh, come _on_! I'm asking finally!" Nash called after her. When the white bat neither slowed nor looked back, Nash kicked the dirt in irritation. "Arg! _You're impossible!_" he shouted after her, before slowly trudging down the peak.


	9. Crisis of Infinite Vikis

_Just when you thought it was safe to visit Toran...! Chapter Nine: Crisis of Infinite Vikis!_

Warrior's Village was not the same little burg that it had been during the Gate Rune War. Bolstered by the inter-region trade fostered under the Lepant Administration, the Village's tiny economy had started to boom. As merchants frequented the area more and more, the Village's traditions had attracted another sort of attention as well...

That's right, Warrior's Village had become Toran's hottest tourist destination.

To accommodate the increased scrutiny, Warrior's Village had expanded. New houses and cabins—all carefully remaining in the same style of straw thatch roofing—sprung up to the south, nearly doubling the size of the Village. Much of this new housing was temporary lodgings and small shopping arcades, along with the odd food vendor. In other words, everything a tourist could possibly need or want to be happy and content.

And the reason this was important at all was because Nash Latkje was standing in front of one of these breakfast vendors, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for breakfast. With little other to do, he half-eavesdropped on the main attraction on the green that morning: a pair of very unlikely lovers.

One of which—the hen-pecked male—was standing on one of several wooden posts on one leg, blindfolded. The female, meanwhile, jabbed at him with a padded stick. This of course looked even more ridiculous—sorry, _charming _and _native_—considering that she was wearing a bright yellow leather dress.

"Hix! Come on, _focus_! Your ceremony is tonight! Don't you want to prove yourself a _man_!" she prodded... literally.

"I'm trying, Tengaar!" the hen-pecked young man answered, struggling to keep his balance on the post while keeping his sword aloft.

"Well try _harder_," she yelled. "Gods, Hix, don't you want to marry me at all!?" she demanded.

"O-Of course I do!" he shouted earnestly, his voice cracking a little. "It's just... no one has done _this _part of the ceremony for years! I don't know why _I _have to be the one to—"

"Because _I'm _the elder's daughter, and if you want _my _hand you have to worka _little_ harder!" she explained quickly, still lunging with the padded stick every couple of seconds. "That means whoever marries _me _is going to be chief some day, and you have to prove you're up to snuff!"

She narrowed her eyes. "...and also because your initiation is going to be the centerpiece of the festival this year, and we want to keep the tourists happy," she added in a slightly quieter voice.

"W-what!?" Hix asked, as he nearly lost his balance again.

"And because without this ceremony, any other old schlub in the village could end up getting a shot at marrying me! And you don't want _that _to happen, right?!" she challenged.

"O-Of course not!" Hix answered.

"Then get your act together! We've only got six hours to make sure you don't screw this up!"

Nash shook his head. And he thought _Sierra _was rough sometimes...

"Sir? Your order is ready."

"Yes, thank you," Nash answered, taking the bag from the friendly food stall vendor.

Leaving the bickering lovers behind, Nash quickly cut across the greens to one of the smaller rental cabins. As he entered, Sierra—reclined elegantly on the bed—cracked open one ruby eye. "Mmm, there you are..."

"I brought breakfast," Nash said, holding up the bag.

"You are, Mr. Latkje, rapidly earning your way back into my good graces," Sierra declared, leaning forward on the bed.

Nash didn't respond, instead just grinning. It was amazing what a romantic getaway (paid for in full by Sasarai, if he knew it or not) could do for a relationship. Although Nash wondered how many more day they could 'hide out' from the world in tiny little Warrior's Village before Sasarai send someone out to forcibly drag him back to Crystal Valley, he decided not to think about it. Besides, his after action report to Sas on 'Operation: Dragon Grass' (sent via Dominguez, as usual) had made some reference to 'bad weather' in Toran, so...

"So, I have to know, Nashy dear: how did you manage to get out of Seek Valley on your own?"

"Actually," Nash began as he began pulling items from the bag, "I ended up flagging down the same dragon knight who was ferrying me in with the blacksmiths in the first place."

"And the blacksmiths?" she pressed, "Weren't they surprised when their apprentice never caught up with them?"

"Handled it with a letter," Nash answered, as he laid out the breakfeststuffs on a tray.

"Oh, you're going to have to be a bit more specific than _that_," she scolded.

Nash bobbed his head, as he sat down on the bed, setting the tray down. "Fair enough. As far as the blacksmiths know," Nash began, "Clo Arash, apprentice blacksmith, was unable to track down his hammer after losing it. Feeling dishonored and unworthy to train with the other masters because of that, Clo vowed to go off on a blacksmithing journey to redeem himself." He frowned as he realized he had left the blueberry jam on the counter. He moved to retrieve it.

"Hmm," Sierra started, considering, "that would be a moving story if any of it were true."

"Wouldn't it just?" Nash agreed, setting the jam on the tray. "I like to imagine it ends with Clo moving to Zelant and eventually crafting a brilliant new type of armor that wins him fame, riches, and busty servant girls."

Sierra favored Nash with a flat stare. "Watch it, mister," she warned, as she moved to sit on the side of the bed.

Nash broke into a suave grin, as he (somewhat) stealthily edged up behind Sierra, nuzzling her neck. "Oh, don't be jealous. You know that you're all the woman I need."

For once, Sierra seemed to be responding positively to Nash taking the initiative. "And I suppose you say that to _all_ your conquests...?" she asked only half seriously.

"You know it," he teased back, as he wrapped his arms around her...

Only to stop shock still as a strange 'bamfing' noise reverberated through the straw hut, followed quickly by a whistling noise. An icy certainty had gripped his heart. _Oh no, oh please no..._

When Nash didn't go back to the pleasurable things he had been previously doing, Sierra frowned. "Nash? What's wrong?" She glanced up at the ceiling. "And what _is_ that noise?" Her nosed crinkled. "Is it getting louder?"

This only confirmed Nash's fears. "I know that sound," he answered in defeat, his face buried into one of his gloved hands.

Seconds later the straw roof caved in on the two of them as a free-falling Viki shaped object slammed home.

**OOO**

"Hix! Get over here!" Tengaar yelled, racing over to the disaster site.

"T-Tengaar!" Hix whined, immediately losing his balance and landing with a thump on the grass.

With shocking speed, Tengaar sped across the greens to the cottage that was suddenly a mess of flying straw, dust, and groans. "What's going on!?" Tengaar demanded, as she slammed open the door to the cottage, still somehow ridiculously still standing even as the rest of the cottage (built on the cheap, under her orders of course) sagged to oblivion.

"It's... complicated?" Nash offered quickly, still trying to pull himself free of the wreckage.

"Tengaar?" Hix inquired, as he crossed the threshold.

"Who _are _you people?" Tengaar fired off next, not stopping for a moment to offer to help any of the three people currently struggling to extract themselves from the giant pile of straw and other debris.

"Who are _you_?" Sierra countered, apparently less than pleased with the way the morning had been panning out—Tengaar's unwelcome intrusion becoming her anger's focus thanks to immediacy. It took her a second a second before recognition dawned. "Wait, aren't you—Tengaar, right?" she asked, her memory of her days in the Orange Army slowly starting to work again. As an aside to herself... "Finally made it back to Warrior's Village, did you?"

"Miss Sierra!?" Hix asked, having missed that aside.

"Is this blueberry jam?" Viki asked, from somewhere near the bottom of the pile, holding up a remnant from Nash and Sierra's breakfast.

"Ah!" Nash exclaimed, as Viki—jam covered piece of toast in hand—suddenly popped out from under a bundle of straw. "Oh, Viki," he began, "Whatever are _you _doing around here?" he asked in a less than convincing tone.

"Nashy?" Viki asked, looking up at him. "It is you, isn't it!? Nashy!" she exclaimed, hurling herself around of the debris and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"_Nashy_?" Sierra asked sharply, eyebrow arched.

"_Hey_!" Tengaar broke back in. "I asked you a question! Or did you forget!?"

"Would you believe that everything is under control? And that you should feel free to go on your way?" Nash asked, trying to minimize the damage of Viki's untimely arrival... and also the potential for ensuing hijinx. _If I can just get her away from everybody, maybe I can..._

"Then why did the roof of this cottage cave in?" Tengaar pressed.

"Er..." and here Nash paused for a second. "Spontaneous roof collapse?" he offered.

"You _can't _be serious," Tengaar deadpanned, looking a little sulky, "and you can't honestly think I'd believe that straw roofs cave in all by themselves, can you?" Her expression shifted. "...no matter how cheaply we built the cottage to save money..."

"Huh?" Hix asked. "What was that last part you mentioned, Tengaar?"

"S-straw?!" Viki asked suddenly.

The tone in her voice was instantly familiar to Nash. "Oh no!" he shouted. He immediately set about to try and dig himself and Viki out of the mess and get her away from what was a very common allergen...

Too late.

ACHOO

**OOO**

Prince Freyjadour Falenas, Commander of the Queen's Knights, had a harried look on his face as he quietly (but quickly) strode through the halls of the Sun Palace. It was obvious that he was looking for something—someone?—as he did so, only briefly returning the nods of the Palace guards as he hurried along.

As the Prince came around to a balcony overlooking the palace's central courtyard, his eyes alighted upon his intended target.

Out in the fading light, in the courtyard, Deputy Commander Lyon was still putting another batch of Falenan Army trainees through their paces. "Again!" she shouted, as they lunged with practice spears.

"Hooah!" the replied in unison... only to all suddenly stiffen and immediately offer identical salutes.

Lyon frowned at the sudden displace. "What are you...?" she asked, turning. P-Prince!" she exclaimed, surprised. He had seemed to come out of nowhere!

He offered an abashed look—he hadn't meant to sneak up on her after all, but she had gotten so _in _to the training session it was impossible not to!—before gesturing up to the sky. It was well into the evening (the sun painting the sky a reddish-orange), and Lyon had been working on various duties since before dawn.

"I know it's late," Lyon began, "But the second trainee batch is due in a few moments, and I..."

The prince's folded arms and generally stern expression stopped her protests cold. "And you keep telling me I'm working too hard..." she finished lamely. The prince nodded, sagely, once, before gesturing that she should follow him. Lyon sighed. "Yes, Commander..." Lyon answered, sulkily. She turned to one of her lieutenants. "Meri, take over for the next trainee batch.

The female army officer nodded before saluting. "Ma'am."

Prince Freyjadour and Lyon began to walk back towards the palace proper... but Lyon stopped and turned back. "And Meri, make sure the trainees are familiar with the second and third degree hand to hand techniques!" A few more steps, then, "And it wouldn't hurt to have them review unit tactics before they start field maneuvers next week!" Another few steps, and, "And don't forget to try the new spear drill set!" This time, only one step before, "Oh, and—!"

But she was cut off, as the prince retraced his steps, gently (but forcefully) took the hand of his bodyguard, and firmly led her away.

The Prince led Lyon to the 'Knight's conference room. As the door opened... "Prince!" Lyon exclaimed, "Did you do this just for me!?"

The prince's smile only grew in size, and he nodded. The room's conference table was set with a veritable feast of Lyon's favorite foods. Leaving the stunned Lyon at the doorway for the moment, the Prince walked over to the table, lit the two candles there, and pulled free one of the chairs, gesturing for Lyon to sit down.

"Oh, Prince," Lyon said, as she sat and took a closer look at the food. "You shouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for me!"

And as he sat down next to her, he only smiled back, and—

BAMF

There were suddenly 250 more people in the room than there had been a second ago. The prince stared at the newcomers in surprise. His surprise only doubled as he realized that whoever they were, they were in the midst of a very _loud _argument.

"I want an explanation _right now_!" The woman in the yellow leather dress was shouting at the man with the wavy hair and rakish scarf. "Who the hell are you!? And why the hell do we keep popping in and out everywhere!?"

"T-Tengaar, please!" the hen-pecked young man in a bandana said, trying to soothe the firecracker.

(Lyon immediately went for her weapon, the switch-blade like sword already free and gleaming in the soft candlelight.

"Prince?" she asked tensely.

He waved a hand, telling her to hold off for the moment on attacking. No telling _who _these visitors were anyway... Best to take a wait and see approach for the moment...)

"Hix, either we start getting answers _now_, or we're never going to make it back in time for the ceremony! And then we can never get married!" Her expression shifted. "...also we'll lose the deposit the tourists made for tonight's show..." she added softly.

"W-wait, what was that last part!?" Hix asked.

At this Nash finally noticed the prince and his bodyguard. "_Great_, you've upset the locals." He held up a hand in greeting. "Uh... Hello there!" he called, sounding uncomfortable. He eyed his surroundings. "Where are we? Falena? Great." He scratched the back of his head. "Listen, we'll be out of your hair here in a minute, folks. Sorry for the inconvenience."

(Lyon and the prince exchanged looks. After a long moment, the prince nodded towards Nash, and lifted a hand in acknowledgement.)

"Hey, _focus_, suave boy!" Tengaar snapped angrily.

"I'd watch the names, if I were you," the icy woman in white and blue (with the most _piercing _ruby eyes the prince had ever seen!) suddenly suggested, her arms folded ominously.

"Hey, Sierra, Tengaar—play nice in front of company," Nash warned, casting another apprehensive look at their 'audience.'

But the two ignored Nash entirely, and the continued to glare at one another. It had taken only a second, but from that point forward, Tengaar and Sierra were bound to be enemies. They narrowed their eyes, and it honestly felt as if the room has suddenly grown several degrees colder. Apparently, being old comrades doesn't count for nearly as much when the name calling of Significant Others is involved.

"Okay," Nash began, cutting in over the sound of their new found mutual disdain, "Look, this is Viki," he began slowly, grabbing Viki bodily by the head and shoulders, and placing her squarely between himself and Tengaar.

"Hi Tengaar!" Viki said cheerily, offering a small wave. "It's been a long time!"

"Hi Viki," Tengaar said, absently waving back even as her eyes never left Nash.

(Lyon leaned over to the Prince. "Is that _our _Viki?" she asked. "She looks a bit... _younger _than I remember." The prince only shrugged, although he agreed with her assessment.)

"And sometimes, Viki gets a little touch of the allergies, and that causes all _sorts _of problems with her blinking rune, and anybody with the misfortune to be near her."

Tengaar's expression turned defiant. Er... defiant-er. "What, you expect me to believe that whenever Viki _sneezes_, her blinking rune grabs up anyone around her and sends them on an exciting journey to Timbuktu and beyond!?" she shouted, incredulous.

"Actually," Hix volunteered nervously, "back when I was trying to save you from Neclord with General McDohl's help, that happened to us once. We ended up all the way in Seika, and—"

"_No._No, Hix," Tengaar interrupted. "I refuse to believe that a simple _sneeze _can—"

ACHOO

They had all vanished in an instant, before the unbelieving eyes of the prince and Lyon. Lyon slowly sank back into her chair.

"What... What just happened?" she asked numbly.

The prince stared at the spot where the visitors had been for a moment longer. Then he decidedly turned his attention back to the food set out before them.

"But... but shouldn't we _tell _someone?" Lyon asked, still visibly disturbed. The prince shook his head no. Lyon blanched. "I guess you're right... Who'd _believe _us, anyway?"

She sighed. "So, what do you want to start with first?" she asked.

And Prince just smiled, before handing Lyon the pot stickers.

**OOO**

"This... could be worse," Nash said, sounding surprisingly relieved at the altogether mundane looking bar. Behind him, one of the few mostly sober bar patrons stared at in slack-jawed terror at the quintet that magically appeared in the middle of the raucous and crowded. No one else seemed to notice—the rest of the bar was having far too good a time butchering the lyrics to several classic bar ballads.

"Speak for yourself," Tengaar protested, looking incredibly cross with her arms folded. The cause for her irritation was obvious: one of the drunks, in his good cheer, had spilled

"Hey, thurr, babe, haven't seen you 'round here 'afore," the same drunk leered, craning his head over to get a better look at Tengaar.

Within seconds, he was far too close for comfort. Tengaar's features screwed up, and she stamped her foot. "Hix!" she shouted immediately.

"I-I'm a l-little b-b-busy, Tengaar!" Hix answered, having been caught up in an impromptu dancing line weeding its way through the outside of the bar.

Tengaar scowled. "Fine!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands up into the air. "I'll handle it myself!" Seconds later, she slammed an elbow in to the drunk (who seemed to be only moments away from becoming 'grabby'). The drunk sank down to his knees, before curling up on the ground. "That's more like it..." she asserted firmly. Seconds later, she determinedly marched across the bar to retrieve poor, dancing Hix.

Nash watched this exchange with a shake of his head. And then he became painfully aware of his own missing other half. _She was right next to me a minute ago... _

As if on cue, a white bat suddenly flew in through one of the bar's open windows. "There you are..." Nash said, taking a seat next to the stunned drunk, as the bat fluttered across from him. Then the white bat suddenly turned into a beautiful and _pale _young woman—the drunk rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "I was wondering where you got off to," Nash continued.

The woman tossed her hair easily, and settled back into a chair. "Gathering intelligence," she answered. "You said that was the first thing you tried to do with every new place the _last _time Viki dragged you through a mess like this..."

Nash's eyebrow arched. "Gathering intel? You hardly needed to take a spin around outside in bat form to do that. See, here, look." He leaned over to a neighboring table, and clapped one of the drunks there on the shoulder. "Hey buddy!" Nash asked, assuming a slight slur to emulate the rest of the crowd. "Where _are _we?"

The drunk at the other table's gaze slowly wandered over to Nash. "We're in the finest little bar in Kanakan! The _Drunken Lobster! _Hurrah!" he finished happily, raising his mug.

"Hurrah!" Nash repeated, raising his fist even if he didn't have a mug. "See?" he asked, turning back to Sierra.

"_Fine_," Sierra began icily. "If you _must _know, I _hate _bars." She folded her arms.

"That's a _terrible _attitude to have!" Nash declared. "Bars are the _greatest_!" he continued. To punctuate the moment, a fistfight broke out on the other side of the room. Nash folded his arms. "Although... Maybe we should start thinking about an exit strategy..."

To that end, Nash began to scan the bar for any sign of Viki. He smirked when he finally spotted her. "Come on, Viki, time to start thinking up new and exciting ways of getting you to sneeze...!" Nash exclaimed, rising form his seat and grabbing Viki out from under the table where she had 'landed.'

"Where are we?" Viki asked, sounding lost and distracted.

"Kanakan," Nash answered automatically.

"A _bar_," Sierra added, disdainfully.

"A bar?" Viki asked, her eyes wide. "Oh, _good. _I'm _really _thirsty." Before Nash could stop her, she hurried over to the bartender. "May I have some water, Mr. Bartender?" she asked politely.

Before the bartender could respond, one of the other patrons wobbled over to Viki. "Here ya go, girlie! Try some of this!" the drunk enjoined.

"Gee, thanks!" Viki exclaimed, taking the goblet eagerly and downing it in one shot.

"Wait, Viki! Don't just—" Nash began, obviously too late.

HICCUP

The one man who noticed this all shook his head, swore never to drink again, and ran screaming from the bar.

**OOO**

"Why is it so dark...?" Nash wondered aloud. He waved his hand but inches from his face, but could see nothing.

"Bah," Sierra said, sounding irritated. "_Just _when I think this journey cannot get _any _more absurd...!" Nash imagined her folding her arms and looking aggrieved.

"I think I'm going to have to agree with bloodsucker over there," Tengaar added bitterly. "Gah!" she suddenly shouted.

"Tengaar!" Hix asked, his voice overflowing with concern but also (in a rare display) resolve. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine..." she started, the confusion clear in her voice. "I just set my hand in... a cake?" she asked.

"Cake!?" Viki exclaimed. "I love cake!"

But before Viki could work her way over and sample some of that cake...

"What's that noise!" a booming voice suddenly demanded.

"W-who said that!?" Hix asked, alarmed. (His previous concern/resolve for Tengaar melting ever so slightly...)

"Chef Kai! Raise the curtain!" the booming voice demanded.

And suddenly there was light and the party could see again. They were arrayed around a pedestal, on which a number of exquisite food dishes (including a very rich looking cake, into which Tengaar and strayed into) were placed. A number of chefs stared at them silently, a very large man in black at their head. As for the rest of the suddenly visible room: They were in a... kitchen. No, a stadium. No, some sort of odd hybrid of kitchen and stadium... And that could only mean...

Nash groaned, his palm smacking into his forehead. ""Aw, Black Dragon Island!?" Nash exclaimed. "Of all the terrible places to end up..."

"_Interlopers_!" Jinkai—the large chef dressed in black—shouted, thrusting a finger out at the party. "How dare you trespass on sacred Black Dragon Island!"

Sierra folded her arms. "Seems like he hasn't changed much..."

Tengaar nodded, flicking away the frosting still on her fingers. "As high strung as ever..."

When the quintet made no move to flee from Jinkai and his culinary disciples, Jinkai's eyes narrowed. Apparently very sensitive to being ignored, he balled up his fists and turning to his battery of chefs. "Don't just stand there! GET THEM!" he howled.

The chefs exchanged confused looks before, as one, they slowly—and this can't be emphasized enough, _slowly_—began to move forward. Jinkai's indoctrination of his personal culinary 'army' was apparently not as air tight as he liked to believe.

"I think we overstayed our welcome a little bit..." Nash supposed. He started ushering his group towards what looked to be a far exit. "Maybe we should start to take our leave..."

"Wait, Black Dragon Island?" Hix asked, as he was being ushered along by Nash. "Wasn't Hai Yo from there?" he asked.

"Who?" Nash said.

Hix got his answer, though not from the source he had been expecting... "Hai Yo!?" Jinkai demanded from behind them. "_Hai Yo_!? That miserable thief! When I find him, I'll drag the Blue Moon Bird out of his detestable corpse!"

"Wait, what?" Tengaar said, pausing in mid-withdrawal. "You _battled _Hai Yo. You lost!"

"WHAT!?" Jinkai demanded, enraged. He slammed one of his mighty boots down, rattling the entire room. "I'd never lose to a low born pathetic _commoner _cook like him!"

Nash shook his head, grabbing Tengaar's hand and dragging her along with him. "Try not to think about it too much!" he explained. "But sometimes Viki's blinking rune causes leaps in time as well as space..."

"It screws with _time_, too!?" she demanded.

"Well, yes," Nash answered, rather matter-of-factly, "Now, come on, we're almost out of here..."

"Actually, Nash, I hate to have to tell you, but your escape plan just hit a snag," Sierra—who was far ahead the rest of the party—said, staring at the far exit that was their goal... and the massive group of black-clad chefs pouring in through it.

This group of chefs was far more loyal to Jinkai—it was obvious by their matching black uniforms. Jinkai looked relieved as they arrived. "Quickly!" he shouted, "Get the interlopers!"

And then everything just descended into bedlam.

The party had been scattered—a few minutes later, _that _was all Nash could be completely sure of. Between the black-clad chefs (frenzied in their efforts to subdue Nash and his comrades), the white-clad chefs (running around in general confusion) and Jinkai (stomping around the room and enjoining everyone to keep after the interlopers), Nash found it difficult to find his allies.

Ducking past a confused looking _saucier_, Nash dashed towards the stadium seating on the far side of the room. Dashing up the steps, he turned to take in the wild bedlam raging the width of the stadium.

Tengaar and Hix were pinned down fairly close to the far exit. Tengaar was grabbing and tossing vegetables of all types while Hix kept the chefs away with his sword. Actually, while Nash watched, Hix was busy struggling to use his Tengaar+ to disarm a group of chefs all armed with a variety of cutting implements.

Sierra, meanwhile, was easily dodging everything the chefs could throw at her (literally in some cases) with either her far superior reflexes or, in extreme cases, simply fading into mist.

Viki meanwhile...

"Aw, hell..." Nash muttered, taking off at a sprint immediately down the stadium seating steps, picking his way past chefs who had been following him.

On the way down, the first inklings of a new plan began to form. He cupped his hands. "Grab some of the pepper!" he shouted over at Hix and Tengaar, even as he ducked his head under a wildly swung pot lid.

"What!?" Tengaar shouted back over the din.

"The pepper! Grab some pepper!" Nash repeated, exasperated.

Tengaar apparently finally got the idea, and with a comforting clap to Hix's back, hurtled a table and scrambled to a massive spice rack on the far wall. Of course, she did this muttering all the while. "Crazy guy with a scarf, thinking _he's _in charge..."

_Okay, there's stage one_, he thought, as his boots cleared the stadium seating and he charged back into the general bedlam on the stadium floor.

"Viki!" he called, as he finally 'fought' his way to Viki (being antagonized by a pair of rookie sous chefs armed with ladles).

"Nashy!" Viki called—relieved—as Nash scattered the souschefs by threatening them with a freshly cut onion.

"Come on!" Nash said gallantly, holding out a hand to Viki. Viki responded by leaping into Nash's arms. "...Not... what I was expecting..." Nash said, struggling over the new sudden load in his arms.

Carrying Viki like a new bride, Nash began the long trek back to where Tengaar and Hix were. He would have looked almost heroic as he did so, if not for the absurd and near-food fight breaking out around him.

Unfortunately, Nash and Viki didn't make it very far before they were quickly surrounded on all sides by black-clad chefs. "Sierra! Clear a path!" he called.

"If I must..." she answered, sounding pained. Turning to mist again, she swished over to Nash's side. Once there she raised one hand, and the Blue Moon Rune began to shine. It was enough to stop the chefs in their tracks—the sheer feeling of force from a true rune has that effect. "Quickly, now," she said.

Hustling, Nash, Sierra, and Viki dashed across the room. Once within a stone's throw, Nash set Viki down. "Tengaar! Pepper!" Nash shouted, clapping his hands and making a catching motion.

Tengaar—finally seeing where Nash was going with this—did as she was bade. Nash took the pepper shaker, twisted the top, and turned to Viki, and—

ACHOO

**OOO**

The Holly Master _roared_, riling its two vine arms wildly. "GRAAAH! Fear the great and terrible power of the holly!"

"Oh no!" Belle cried out, "Who will save me!?" she shrieked, clutching her mallet to her chest.

And then suddenly, there was a flash, and an innocuous looking barrel rolled, as if from nowhere, between the girl and the terrible beast.

"COUNTER MEASURES INITIATED," said the barrel, in a monotone voice.

"What devilry is this!?" demanded the Holly Master, trashing in confusion. "A _barrel _dares challenge the great and terrible Holly Master!?"

"NOT JUST A BARREL," the barrel said. Suddenly, there was a flash, and the barrel transformed into a mighty, clockwork barrel _warrior_!

Belle gasped. "It's Gadget Z!" she called out, relieved.

"GADGET Z, DEFENDER OF THE CHILDREN!" Gadget Z declared confidently, striking an heroic pose.

"Go get him, Gadget Z!" Belle shouted in encouragement.

The Holly Master roared. "Puny barrel warriors do not scare me! Come, break your wooden fists on my mighty hide!"

Several of Gadget Z's gears began to spin in overdrive. "GADGET Z, _GO_!"

The two titans charged forward at one another and—!

"You _can't _be _serious_," Sierra said flatly, watching the entire battle with a disgusted look on her face.

"Well, it could be worse," Nash answered. "This one time Viki managed to get us stuck in a warren of flying squirrels." Nash's expression deflated. "Thank heavens Viki's allergic to squirrel fur, otherwise the gods only know how long we would have been trapped in there..." He glanced over to Viki. "Right, Viki?" he asked.

Viki, however, was far too enamored with the titanic struggle between the Holly Master and Gadget Z. "Go get 'em, Gadget Z!" she shouted in encouragement.

Nash sighed. "Will someone _please _use the pepper already?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"Got it..." Tengaar answered dourly.

ACHOO

**OOO**

Tir McDohl, former boy general and current cursed rune bearer, slowly trudged down a steep, snow covered ravine. He was flanked by two others: a man with a cross hatch scar and heavy green cloak, and a petite ninja with raven dark hair and swathed in winter whites.

As the three neared the bottom of the ravine, Tir held up a hand and the three paused to rest. For a moment, the boy general glanced back at his two companions, and he knew that they'd both follow him to the ends of the earth. For another moment more, Tir closed his eyes and allowed himself to feel the warmth of their affection...

It was enough to propel him onward through the snow. He waved back to encourage them, before he threw himself against the sharp incline of the other side of the valley. They had a mission to do, after all.

The snow was deep. It reached up easily to his thighs.

At this time of year, in this place, there would be few others around. In fact, Tir wouldn't have been surprised if he, Gremio, and Kasumi were the only three people for _hundreds_ of miles around.

But they had to persevere. They _had _to press onward, for beyond this mountain range, they'd find—

"Lord McDohl!" someone shouted. "It's your Viki!" the voice finished as she waved emphatically.

Tir, Gremio, and Kasumi stared up along the ridge in confusion. A few dozen feet above them, at the top of a sheer, ice covered cliff, stood Viki, waving down at them. Behind her, at least four other people stared down as well, all looking profoundly confused (and cold!).

"Young Master," Gremio began hesitantly, "Am I seeing things?"

"... I don't know..." Tir glanced over at Kasumi. "Kasumi?"

"I see it too, Lord McDohl," she answered, before rubbing her eyes again.

Tir nodded. He was silent, watching the strangers for a few moments more. Well, actually, now that he took a closer look, he actually recognized a few of them. All except the man with the scarf in front... Why, he looked almost Harmonian, but what he was doing out _here _in the middle of nowhere was—

"That's enough of that," Nash muttered, bringing the pepper shaker up to bear.

ACHOO

Tir, Gremio, and Kasumi exchanged looks. After a moment, Tir folded his arms. "We... should keep going..." With that, Tir began the trek again, Gremio and Kasumi right behind him. (Of course, the trio's mission—and if they managed to succeed—are a tale for another day.)

**OOO**

And then Nash found himself in the place he had hoped to _never see again_: the Sajah Rune Shop. "Oh no..." he began, suddenly reaching for the pepper. "Where's the pepper!?" he whispered to Sierra.

"It looks," she began, eyeing the shaker critically, "as if we're out."

At this, Jeane finally looked up. "Oh-ho-ho-ho... Hello again..." Jeane greeted breathily.

"What are you _wearing_?" Tengaar asked, honestly appalled.

"Or not wearing..." Sierra added, casting another critical eye over Jeane's outfit.

"It's an old classic, you know..." Jeane added demurely. "It was all the rage in the Island Nations... 100 years ago... Oh-ho-ho-ho..."

She then took a few steps towards Nash. "Good to see you again..." she murmured. "Care to finish our... transaction?" she inquired.

For a moment, Nash felt the same mysterious aura washing off from her as he always did. Then, at the last moment, he felt the sure, trusting (if _piercing_) gaze of Sierra on his back. "Ah, _no_, I'm all set, thanks!" He took a big step back, placing Sierra between him and Jeane. "She handles all the rune stuff for us."

"Hello _again_," Sierra said icily.

Jeane seemed to get the message. "Oh, how unfortunate..." Jeane said, adopting a pout... right until she noticed Hix standing awkwardly off to one side, turning bright red as he struggled not to look at the... _revealing _outfit Jeane was wearing.

"And how about you, big boy?" Jeane asked, poking Hix lightly. "Would you like a rune?" she asked.

"I-I-I—" Hix stammered.

"_Not_going to happen," Tengaar said dangerously, grabbing Hix by the scruff. "So don't even think about it." She continued to glare at Jeane, even as she dragged Hix over to next to Sierra and Nash.

Their menfolk sheltered for the moment behind them, Sierra and Tengaar exchanged glances... and for a moment, there was a clear understanding between the two of them.

At any rate, that meant only Viki was left standing near Jeane. Viki, who for her part was admiring the number of runes along the racks and apparently just not noticing the tense standoff happening behind her.

Jeane trailed over to Viki. "Lost again, are we?" Jeane asked of Viki, apparently quickly surmising her situation.

"Well..." Viki answered noncommittally.

Jeane sighed, before taking Viki's right hand. "Here..." she began, tracing esoteric shapes just above Viki's rune. "This should help you out a bit. Free of charge." She winked. "Us enigmas have to stick together," she added.

"Thanks, Je—" Viki began, only to be cut off as her blinking run started to gleam.

BAMF

"Oh well..." Jeane said into the quiet of her shop, "maybe I'll have a sale tomorrow!"

**OOO**

For the moment, there was no pressing issues around them—just lots of odd scenery. It was a room (?), with walls painted (??) with images of outdoor scenery at dusk (??), all with a checkerboard pattern (??) for a floor. Oh, and a bench. And a potted plant. Further more, there was no telling where the soft light suffusing the room was coming from... even if it was both warm and comforting.

Obviously, it was the right time to start getting some answers.

"_You _got us into this mess, and now _you _need to get us out of it!" Tengaar declared, ramming her points home with two sharp jabs of her finger.

"Hey," Nash protested, "I _tried _to get you and your boyfriend—"

"_Fiancée!_" Tengaar corrected.

Nash nodded. "I tried to get you and your _fiancée _to steer clear of Viki, but _you wouldn't listen!_"

"Well..." Tengaar began, only to stop, apparently stymied. She tapped her foot, apparently noticing the strange surroundings for the first time. "_Fine_!" she finished instead. She folded her arms. "Fine, whatever. Just get us home, _please_." Her expression of worry seemed sincere. "I just want to get back, so Hix and I can finally get the ceremony behind us, and start planning our wedding..." she finished, sounding very tired.

At this Hix grabbed her hand, rubbing it in an effort to comfort her. "Well, Mr. Nash?" he asked. "Is there anyway you can get us back to Warrior's Village?"

Nash folded his arms, examining his surroundings carefully. "Maybe. This place looks sort of familiar from the first time Viki took me on one of these crazy trips..."

He turned to Viki. "Hey, Viki, where are we?" he asked, in a guarded tone.

Viki looked a little bit frazzled and dazed (her blinking rune going off so many times in quick succession was a _very _draining experience) slowly turned to him. "Oh, uh, I think Jeane helped send me home."

Nash nodded, as if he had expected exactly that. "That's what I thought..." To the others he said, "Follow me," before quickly marching over to what looked like a door (delightfully painting like the trunk of a tree!).

The quintet burst into the next room. It was painted in a similar outdoor motif, only it was obviously styled after a dark night. Nash frowned. "That... doesn't look right..." He turned, returned to the sunset room, crossed it to _another _door, and walked through, the rest of his group following behind.

Blue skies greeted them on the other side. "There, _that _looks better," Nash said.

"Now what?" Tengaar asked.

"Uh... we wait?" Nash offered. "I don't know. The last time I was here, we ran into a..." his faced scrunched up for a moment, "well, I guess I'd call her a _smaller _Viki, and I think can—"

"—send us home!?" Nash (?) declared, as he led Meg, Millie, and Viki (!?) in the opposite door.

For a long moment, the two Nashes just stared at one another across the room. "How—" they began in stereo, only to stop, stymied. "What—" they began again. They both folded their arms.

Sierra slipped next to her Nash. "Why are there two of you?" she asked, frowning at the other Nash—henceforth dubbed Alternate Nash (who, for _his _part, seemed shocked at seeing the lady vampire who had abandoned him... with him... or, Nash. Or... _whatever_).

"I'm not sure," Nash answered. "I don't remember this from the first time..."

Millie looked down at Bonaparte, who looked back up in confusion. "Are you seeing two Nashes?" she asked. She and Bonaparte scratched their heads in confusion in stereo. "That shouldn't have happened..."

"And I thought _one _Nash was a handful..." Meg added helpfully.

Glaring for a moment at Meg, Alternate Nash turned his attention back to Nash. "Okay, buddy, what's going on here?" Alternate Nash asked, taking a half step forward. It was hard not to notice how his gaze kept flicking to Sierra.

Before Nash could respond, the Vikis of both parties noticed each other. Giggling, the two ran forward. "It's like a mirror!" the two Vikis declared happily as they mimed with one another.

Alternate Nash blinked twice. Meg patted him on the shoulder. "Well,it's not _all _bad, is it?"

Millie brightened. "Yeah! It'll be like having a brother, right?"

Alternate Nash groaned, burying his face into one of his gloved hands.

Regular Nash folded his arms. "This _is _really troubling, though," he began. "Because if that's my _past _me, I _should _remember all this... right?"

Sierra looked troubled. "Well, as _intriguing _an idea it is to have two of you," and here she paused to smile impishly as Nash sent her a dirty look, "we probably should try resolve this before things get any more out of hand..."

No sooner had Sierra said that, than a third door burst open and _another_ Viki stumbled into the room, followed shortly by what appeared at first glance to be a miniaturized version of... herself.

The two Nashes glanced at the newly arrived Vikis, then at the Vikis from before (still marveling at their faux-mirror), and then finally at each other. It was finally just too much for _either _to take. "That's _it_!" Nash and Alternate Nash shouted at about the same time, "I'm done!" they both declared in stereo, before stalking off in opposite directions.

And as Nash whipped open the first door he reached, everything turned to white, and—

**OOO**

"Excellent job on that ceremony, Hix!" Zoltan shouted heartily, clapping Hix—miraculously perched on the post still—sprawling.

"C-ceremony?" Hix wondered aloud. He scanned the crowd, eyes alighting on Tengaar. She wore her ceremonial dress—pure white, like her wedding dress would be—and a confused expression to match Hix's.

"Yes, ceremony!" Zoltan enjoined, clapping Hix on the shoulder on his shoulder again even though Hix was still on the ground. "It was a masterful performance—even better than the one _I _gave when I wooed Tengaar's mother. Why, I was so nervous and shaking so badly that I could barely keep my blade still. And it was _so cold _that night, why I—"

"I finished the ceremony?" Hix asked numbly, thankfully cutting Zoltan's long winded story short.

"Hix!" Tengaar called, dashing from the crowd and dropping to her knees to attend to her beloved. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine..." Hix answered, a little surprised himself.

She hugged him fiercely, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I'm so glad you did it!" she enjoined enthusiastically. Her expression turned slightly befuddled after a moment. "...I wish I could have been around to see it, but I'm so proud of you!"

Zoltan then extended a hand and helped Hix to his feet. Once standing, Zoltan raised Hix and Tengaar's hands in victory, before placing their hand atop one another and stepping back, while the crowd of warriors and tourists broke into raucous cheers.

And that moment would stay with the two of them forever, even if neither Hix nor Tengaar could never quite remember how exactly he had pulled it off.

**OOO**

At approximately the same time, practically on the other side of the world, Nash and Sierra both woke up with a start. They were shocked to find themselves fully dressed, in their bed, in the Circle Palace.

"How—?" began Sierra, before he broke off. It was clear by Nash's confused expression, he had no better idea of what had happened than she had.

After a moment, Nash coughed uncomfortably. "Well, uh... I guess that takes care of that." He then laid back down.

"What do you mean, that takes care of that?" Sierra demanded, fists balled up and slamming fiercely into the sheets. "None of that made _any _sense!" she shouted. "And how did we end up back home without—"

Nash held up a hand. "Sierra, seriously. I've been through this before. It's best if you just stop thinking about it."

And somewhere, someone sneezed.


	10. Latkje Family Reunion

_The dreaded day arrives for Nash... Chapter Ten: Latkje Family Reunion_

Nash and Sierra walked down one of the main thoroughfares of Crystal Valley. Both were wearing something approximating formal wear. Sierra seemed pleased as punch as they walked along; Nash was visibly less so.

Nash tugged at his collar. "This is a _terrible _idea," he started, his tugging quickly becoming more violent. "I can't believe you talked me into thinking this was a good idea at all."

"_Nash_," Sierra said sharply, grabbing his arm and dragging it back down to his side. "_Stop _fiddling with your jacket collar, and _stop _complaining." Her expression turned shifty. "And I hardly did any _talking_..." Sierra added, trailing off.

Nash folded his arms, as her attempt at innuendo was ignored. "No, and you didn't _need _to. You just gave me that terrible _stare _of yours for three days straight." He sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "This is going to be a disaster..."

Sierra breezily gestured with one hand. "Nash, the way you constantly go on and on, you'd think you didn't _want_ to see your family at all!"

Nash's expression turned bleak. "That's not... I mean, I _do_, but, it's been so long, and..." He shifted. "I just thought I'd have more time to mentally psych myself up... We were still a good _month _from being anywhere _close _to home..."

"I guess that madness with Viki gave us _something _to be thankful for then, after all," she added slyly. Her expression soon blossomed into a full-blown smile. "I for one was just _dying _for this little get together!"

"I'm _painfully _aware of that..." Nash added, sounding defeated.

Sierra's expression softened for a moment, and she entwined her arm with his. "Come on now, at least _try _and slap on a smile, hmm? It won't do to have your big reunion spoiled due to a frowny face."

Nash's expression lightened slightly and they continued on down the road... for about three more steps, when Nash realized that they had already arrived. He looked over the humble yet well maintained brownstone in front of them with some apprehension. "Oh. Oh," he said, suddenly resting a hand over his stomach as the two climbed the short steps towards the door. "I haven't been this nervous in a while..."

Sierra's previous tenderness fled at the all too easy opening. "What's this? The mighty super spy, Nash Latkje, admitting to a bout of nerves!?" That smile again. "_Preposterous!_"

"Yeah," Nash replied, sounding _very _distressed, "that's _really _not helping me right now..." He made a half hearted attempt to ring the door, but his arm failed him miserably.

"Oh, enough of _that,_" Sierra said in a heat. She yanked the pull cord with gusto before Nash could stop her.

Bells chimed somewhere in the house. When the door didn't immediately open, Nash began to fidget. "Stop that," Sierra chided.

Nash tried, unsuccessfully. After a moment more of fiddling, he cast a sidelong look at Sierra. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost say that _you _were the one concerned about making a good impression."

Sierra said nothing, probably because—damn it all!—she _was. _This was, after all, the first time in a good _long _while she had been off to meet someone's family... if ever. She had never actually met _Rean_'s family, after all!

Thankfully, she was saved by the door slowly opening. Commander Suphina—looking striking in an elegantly cut pantsuit of deep violet instead of her temple guard uniform—stood behind the door, stone-faced. After a moment of looking Nash and Sierra over, she nodded once. "Envoy Clovis," she began in a monotone, "I'm so delighted you could make it."

She turned her attention to Sierra. "And you are..."

Sierra offered her hand. "You can call me Miss Mikain," she answered. "Sierra Mikain."

Lena took the offered hand. "Excellent to meet you."

So far, the 'family reunion' was _exactly _what Nash had been dreading. Admittedly, he hadn't expected Lena to wrap him in a great bear hug or anything—hell, the last time they had met, hadn't it been at sword point? At any rate, he nodded. "Commander Suphina. How lovely it is to see you..." he trailed off.

There was an odd glint in Lena's eyes. "Please, come in," she said, gesturing into the house.

The three of them walked down a narrow hallway, the only illumination a candelabra at the far end. Lena was still oddly quiet, all told.

Nash and Sierra exchanged glances. Sierra leaned in. "What'd you do to upset her?" she asked in a harsh whisper.

"I didn't do _anything_!" he protested, also in a whisper.

Despite Nash's protestations to innocence, Sierra was fuming anyway. "Well I don't care! You better say something to fix it!" she hissed back.

For a moment, he was tempted to deliver a stinging and well deserved 'I told you this was going to be a disaster,' but he decided he rather liked breathing and wisely held his tongue. "All right, all right!" Nash finally agreed, throwing up a hand.

He coughed lightly, just as the three of them came to the end of the hall. "Commander Suphina—_Lena_, listen I—"

But Commander Suphina apparently wasn't listening, as she just went ahead and opened the door they stood in front of anyway. It was far brighter beyond the door than in the hall; Nash squinted into the light. It _looked _like a dinning room, and was there someone already sitting at the—

"Nash!"

And the next thing Nash knew, Julie was rushing towards him with outstretched arms...

They embraced. For a long moment, Nash seemed to be at a complete loss of words. After a good minute... "Jules... Heh. I... I missed you."

Sierra folded her arms, a smirk on her face. _I never could pass up an opportunity to rib Nash_... "Are those tears in your eyes, my dear Nash?" she asked.

Nash quickly daubed at his eyes. "No. Shut up," he protested.

Julie finally broke the embrace, but gave Nash a sympathetic squeeze of his arm. "And just who is this?" She turned back to Nash. "Is this your friend that I've heard so much about?" she asked.

Nash scratched the back of his head. "Er, yes, let me introduce you to my... 'better' half," he said, the hint of mockery obvious in his tone.

Or at least it was obvious to Sierra, who glared at Nash before offering her best smile to Julie. "Hello—my name's Sierra."

Julie was all smiles. "Oh, it's so nice to finally meet you!" she exclaimed happily. After a moment, Julie grabbed up Nash's hand again. "Oh! Well, let's not all stand around all night! We have so much to catch up on!" she declared, as she led Nash back over to the large dinner table set up in the center of the room.

(Nash just smiled and let himself be led along. _She always did love playing the hostess_, he reflected.)

"Why did it take so long for you to respond to Lena's invitation?" Julie asked first, as they neared the table. It was obvious by her tone that she wasn't _mad_, exactly, but rather just very curious.

"Ah, right," Nash began, "Sasarai has been something of a slave driver recently. Did you know I was in Toran just last week?" he asked, distractedly as Julie led him to his seat.

"Last week?" Julie asked. "But, how did you—?" She frowned. "It takes at the very least a few weeks by boat to get from there to here, right?"

Nash held up a finger. "That's... kind of a long story, actually." He scratched the back of his head. "And it's not really important." As he took his seat across from Julie, he gaze wandered over to Lena, who was taking a seat at Julie's right. "And... I wasn't quite sure what sort of reception to expect." An arched eyebrow. "That was only seemed to be confirmed from the cold shoulder I was getting from Lena over here," Nash added.

"And _that's _because I still haven't quite forgiven you yet," Lena explained in a frosty tone, as she remained distant.

"Oh, Lena, do stop it," Julie protested, her delicate hands folding into tiny cupcake sized fists. "All that's really important is Nash is here _now_." By Lena's folded arms, it was pretty clear that she remained unconvinced. But she nodded, finally, so apparently she was more or less game for the night.

Dinner proceeded smoothly. The conversation mostly skewed light.

After, Lena asked Nash if she would help him with the dishes. The strained look the two exchanged seemed to promise fireworks. Julie said she wanted to get to know Sierra better. Sierra shifted uncomfortably.

**OOO**

"I wash, you dry?" Nash asked, stripping off his gloves and diving his hands into the soapy water in the sink without waiting for Lena's reply.

Lena, her expression darkly incensed, moved to stand next to him. She grabbed up a dishtowel and immediately began twisting it furiously. It was obvious that she was just _dying _to tear into Nash, but something (her promise to Julie?) kept holding her back.

In fact, she said nothing until Nash handed her the first plate to be dried. "You bastard..." Lena began, dangerously. "I can't even be _mad _at you properly, because you've covered that deal I made with Sasarai..."

"That's just all part of my winning charm," Nash responded cheerfully.

For a reward, Lena slugged him in the arm. "Shut up. I'm trying to forgive you here."

Nash held up his hands, water dripping down his arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please continue."

"As I was saying, it would be easier for me if you had just cut and run, like you almost did. Instead, you had to do the honorable thing and cover my pledge to Sasarai, even if you did insist on staying in Caleria all those years."

At this point, Nash did interject. "Come on, I know that Sasarai kept you informed—Caleria wasn't _totally _my choice. If I stayed, Zaj's henchmen in the People faction and in the Tower weren't about to just let me walk away scott-free."

"I know, I know." She sighed, sounding frustrated. "I just wish things had turned out differently, if only for Julie's sake." She resumed drying. "She's missed you terribly, you know."

Nash nodded. If there was one thing he regretted about the way things turned out... "I know."

Lena sighed. "I'm just glad we've seen the last of Zaj's faction."

And for a second Nash stopped and wondered...

"So, uh, what do you think of Sierra?" Nash asked, smoothly switching topics.

"She's unlike any woman I've ever met," Lena answered automatically. She failed to specify if that was a good or bad thing.

Nash shifted uncomfortably. "And?" he pressed.

At this point, Lena broke out into her first honest smile of the night. "I always did figure you would go for one of the exotic types," she continued at length. She slugged Nash in the arm again. "Seems like a reasonably good catch, though... Should keep _you _in check, at any rate."

"You have no idea," Nash answered seriously.

"So," Lena pushed, "when are you going to make her an honest woman?"

The good news for Nash is that the plate he dropped didn't break.

**OOO**

"W-wedding!?" Sierra stammered, uncharacteristically flustered.

Sierra and Julie were sitting in the sitting room, just off the main dinning room. A roaring fire was burning at a steady clip next to them... which was the only sound that could be heard over Sierra's stunned silence.

"I'm too young to get married!" Sierra protested, the irony of that statement completely lost on Julie.

After a moment—once her icy cool logic had reasserted itself—Sierra shook her head. "Julie, I'm sorry. I don't mean to give you the wrong idea. It's just... there are _considerations _that complicate that... that _possibility_ that you don't know about..."

"Considerations?" Julie asked, cocking her head to one side.

"Well, to begin with..." And here Sierra paused, unsure as to how to break the news. Finally she shrugged, figuring the direct route would probably be the best. "I'm a vampire."

Julie blinked. "Vampire?" she finally asked.

Sierra nodded, then helpfully bared her fangs and pantomimed wings with her hands.

Julie took this in silently, before letting out a relieved sigh. "Oh thank goodness!" she declared.

"T-thank goodness?!" Sierra stammered in surprise.

"And here I was just concerned that you weren't getting enough sun!" Julie explained, relieved. She brushed a lock of hair back from her face. "And, actually, that does explain the red eyes, too, now that I think about it."

"You _do _realize that means I drink blood, right?" Sierra asked, feeling a little absurd laying it out so simply.

"Well, what _else _would vampires do?" Julie chided. She cast a glance back towards the kitchen. "Though, judging by what I saw at dinner, you're no stranger to a good meal..."

"Well," Sierra went on, shifting awkwardly, "That's true..."

"So that's not really an issue," Julie went on. "Now, I always thought a nice spring wedding is—"

"It's not only that, though," Sierra interrupted quickly, as if daring Julie to find her to be a bad match for Nash. Julie just looked amused by Sierra's efforts, and waited expectantly.

"I also have this..." She held out her right hand. "I am the bearer of the Blue Moon Rune," she began. She turned her gaze down to the innocuous looking rune. "Say hello, then," she commanded. The rune shimmered in response, and the two felt the waves of power buffet them lightly.

"A true rune?" Julie repeated, staring at the tattoo-like marking on the back of Sierra's right hand. Of course she had heard the stories—what child reared in true rune-crazy Harmonia hadn't?

Sierra's expression turned melancholy. "It is the destiny that I must bear. A life without end, all for whatever ends the rune is chasing..." She sighed. It was only at moments like now that even a hint of her true age seemed to bleed through.

"So as you can see," Sierra continued, "this burden simply makes it _impossible _for any considerations of a... long-term relationship. It just... can't happen."

Julie turned her attention from the Blue Moon Rune back up to Sierra; she smiled brightly. "Oh well, that won't make too much of a difference."

"I-I don't see how you can just so glibly push _that _aside..." Sierra said, faintly scandalized.

Julie tapped her chin, looking thoughtful. "Actually it might even help in the long run."

Sierra frowned. "I fail to see how immortality could bring any _benefits _to a relationship..." she said drolly.

"But Sierra," Julie said earnestly, leaning forward and clasping Sierra's hands firmly, "that's the only sort of person who could ever keep Nash's attention."

**OOO**

_Meanwhile, deep inside the Circle Palace..._

"There it is again..." Sasarai said, glancing up from his paperwork.

It was odd. Just at the very edge of his perception, he thought he could feel a familiar tingle...

He dismissed it. How could it be possible for a true rune to be in Crystal Valley without him knowing it?

_Still though_, he thought, _it wouldn't hurt to keep an eye out for anything unusual..._

**OOO**

"All done with the dishes?" Julie asked brightly.

Nash flexed imposingly. "They were just simply no match for us."

Lena rolled her eyes, but a grin was clear on her face. "Well, something like that..."

Nash was all smiles, though he knew something was up after a few moments when a barb from Sierra never arrived. Casting a discreet glance over at her, he saw a brittle looking smile plastered on her face. _Uh-oh... What did Julie _say _to her? _

Nash was going to look for a pretext to get Sierra alone and ask what was wrong, but Julie (casting an appraising glance over a Nash of her own) beat him to the punch. "Oh! Nash! There was something I've wanted to give you." She quickly stood, and clasped Nash's arm. "Quickly now – it's up in the attic."

As Julie bodily dragged him from the room, Nash's expression blanched. "But why is it in the attic?" Nash complained, casting another worried look back at Sierra.

**OOO**

Once in the attic, Julie swept back her dress and crouched down next to a battered and dusty trunk near the center of the space. "Here," Julie commanded, sitting with her legs folded to one side. She gestured with her hands to the space on the opposite side of the trunk. "Sit."

Nash did as she told him, sitting cross-legged. His nose crinkled. "Man is it dusty up here..."

"Mmm," Julie said in lieu of an answer, as she manhandled the top of the trunk open, and began shifting through the numerous contents.

Nash shifted in his sitting position. Julie wasn't saying anything. "So, uh..." he began, "What do you think of her?" Nash asked.

"She's exactly the girl for you," Julie said confidently,

Nash blushed, suddenly smiling too broadly and scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "Y-you think so?" he asked, almost a little too loudly.

"Mmm-hmm," Julie agreed absently, still pawing through the contents of the trunk. Her eyes widened. "Ah, here it is." She pulled out a silver box, thin as a finger, and about as big as Julie's palm. She handed it to Nash.

"This is..." He frowned, cupping it in his hand. He remembered it... from _somewhere_, but he couldn't quite place it.

"It was father's," Julie explained. "It's his match box," she elaborated, fiddling with the box and opening it like a book, revealing several long matches. "Remember? He used to take it out—"

"And light up his big cigars after dinner!" Nash exclaimed, excited as the memory returned.

"Although I figured someone in your profession could probably find all sorts of _other _uses for it," she added slyly.

"I found it when I was cleaning up here."

Nash stared at the match box with a wistful smile for a moment longer, before he remembered something. "Which reminds me," Nash said, reaching into his back pocket. "I think I've held onto something of yours for too long as it is." He pulled free Julie's locket, handing it back.

"Nash! You held on to it!" she said happily.

"Of course I did," he said, even as Julie lunged at him in a hug, "Chiefly because I knew you'd never forgive me if I didn't."

As Nash disentangled himself from Julie's arms, he smiled, dusting himself off and climbing to his feet. "Well, now that our little gift exchange is done, I think we should get back downstairs before Lena and Sierra get into a fight or something," he suggested, smiling. He held his hand out and helped Julie to his feet.

"You don't really think that they would get into an argument, do you?" Julie asked, looking concerned as she smoothed out her skirts.

"...Probably not." A beat. "_Probably_."

**OOO**

Lena and Sierra, meanwhile, sat quietly in the sitting room. It wasn't... _quite_ awkward (although not as bad anyone might have feared).

Lena was tapping her finger on the armrest of the chair she was in. After a minute, she shifted, looking agitated. After another minute, she shifted again. Finally, a look of frustration flashed on her face. "Hey," she called out, suddenly leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

When Sierra's gazed snapped over to her, Lena was staring at her intently. "Are you happy with my thickheaded nephew?" she asked.

Sierra seemed surprised by the question, and opened her mouth to respond... but nothing came out. Instead her expression flashed confusion, before—despite her best efforts—she broke into a shy half grin.

"That's what I thought," Lena said confidently, leaning back in the chair. She nodded, looking pacified. "That's good to know..."

**OOO**

And with that, the night was over... Almost. The four gathered in a sitting room near the main entrance. They said their goodbyes, but then...

"Miss Sierra, do you think you could give us a few minutes alone with Nash?" she asked.

Sierra eyed them warily, but nodded. "Who am I to deny family?" she asked. "I'll be waiting outside," she said simply, before turned and closing the door behind her.

For a long moment, Lena and Julie stared at Nash without saying anything. It made Nash feel slightly self-conscious. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Hey, hey, come on. What is it? You guys are making me nervous!"

"Sit down," Julie finally commanded. Nash sat in one of the armchairs, and Julie took the armchair opposite him. Lena dragged over one of the ottomans and perched on its edge. They both leaned forward.

Nash folded his arms. "Okay, seriously, you guys are starting to freak me out here."

"Nash," Lena began, "Nash... We'd like to have you around more..." Lena began.

Nash frowned. "Okay. Well, I mean, what? Do you guys want to have dinner again soon, or...?"

Lena shook her head. "That's not exactly what we mean..." And here Lena glanced over to Julie. "We have a spare room here and..."

"And I want you back, Big Brother," Julie declared, grabbing up Nash's hands in her own.

Nash blinked. "I... Sierra... We... Er..."

Julie nodded, patting Nash's hands. "Well, it looks like you need to think about it some. Take all the time you need, okay? We can wait."

As Nash robotically rose to his feet and out of the house, his head was awash in everything that had happened in one short dinner. It was a lot to take in all at once.

Just outside the front door, Sierra was waiting for him. "I take it you were listening in?" Nash asked.

"Can I help it if my senses are far beyond a mere mortal's?" Sierra asked rhetorically.

"What do you think of the idea?" Nash asked, trying to sound casual.

"I think..." She took a few steps forward, so that Nash could no longer see her face. "I think that's your choice."

"Sierra?" Nash asked warily.

"I'll see you at our quarters," Sierra said in lieu of an answer. She then quickly transmogrified into a bat, and sped off into the night.

Nash cast a glance back at Lena and Julie's brownstone. _What exactly did they say to her?_ He folded his arms as he continued down the long path back to Circle Palace.


	11. Darkness in the One Temple Library

_Darkness in the One Temple Library – Chapter 11: The Creature Beyond Time_

Nash frowned down at the mission briefing Sasarai had handed him. "A haunted library?" He fixed Sasarai with a perplexed look. "You _do_ realize I'm a _spy_, right? Not a paranormal investigator?" Nash asked, only half serious.

Sasarai shrugged. "As Hikusaak used to say, always use the tools at hand." He leaned back in his chair. "Besides, you handled Heller Manor with no trouble. If anything, Nash, you're developing a reputation for the go-to man for the strange and unknown."

Nash scratched the back of his head. _This is so totally all Sierra's fault_... "Why exactly is this of concern for a Harmonian bishop?" Nash asked. "I would think that the Crystal Valley civil guard would be a better fit."

At this, Sasarai looked uncomfortable. "I may owe the head librarian a favor or two..."

"Of course..." Nash said, groaning slightly. _Why am _I _always used as payment for favors with these people?_ "Okay, okay. Do we have any other information on this 'ghost,' or whatever?"

Sasarai nodded. "The head librarian will brief you on more of the particulars when you arrive on sight."

With an exaggerated sigh, Nash stood up from his chair. "Well, then, I guess I'd better get going."

Sasarai offered a cheery smile. "But don't worry, Nash. I've got a proper espionage mission ready and waiting for when you come back."

Nash favored Sasarai with a bemused look. "Some enticement: more work when I get back."

Sasarai spread his hands, gesturing to his cluttered desk. "I've got piles and piles of paperwork if you'd prefer."

Nash waved the thought off as he turned and strode from Sas' office. "I'd hardly want to _rob _you of that experience, my Lord Bishop. I'll go clean up your little ghost problem."

**OOO**

"That's rather... imposing," Sierra said, looking up at the giant One Temple Library complex. Its granite façade stared impassively back.

Nash cast a sidelong glance her way. "I find it hard to believe that _you've _never been here before."

Sierra shrugged. "Why spend my times lingering about libraries when there's so much to experience in the wide world?"

Nash smirked. "More like you didn't want her complexion to get any _paler_."

Sierra scowled at him, but considering that wasn't _too _far from the truth she chose to forgo any physical violence. "Besides, it's not like I had a lot of time to browse the fine selection here. Vampire hunting is a full time job."

She shifted, resettling her shawl around her shoulders, shivering. "It's cold..."

Nash unconsciously readjusted his scarf. "Yeah." He smirked. "It almost feels like its coming from the library itself." He made a strange face, suddenly waving his hands. "Oooh, spooky!" Chuckling to himself, he marched up the library's many steps.

Sierra fixed the library complex with another long, considering look.

**OOO**

The head librarian was waiting for the two of them just inside, in the cavernous main lobby. He was an exceedingly thin man, with a terrible gray complexion and an exceptionally pencil thin mustache. "Ezekl Nightly, head librarian," he said, holding out a hand.

(Years later, Nash would be struck by an odd sense of déjà vu when he first met Eike at Budahec Castle. With the exception of the mustache, they were practically twins.)

"Nash Clovis," Nash answered, taking his hand. "Er... Problem solver." He watched Ezekl's eyes flick over to Sierra. "And this is..." Nash frowned in thought for a second, before he broke into a smile. "Madam Sierra, psychic medium."

Almost instantly, Nash could feel Sierra's glare on him. He fought a smile.

"Madam Sierra, good to meet you," Ezekl offered.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Sierra said, a brittle smile on her lips.

"So, tell me about your 'ghost,'" Nash began, trying to get down to business.

"Ah, heh..." Ezekl began, wringing his hands. "I'm afraid calling it a 'ghost' is something of a misnomer."

Sierra's eyebrow arched. "Misnomer?"

Ezekl nodded. "That was more of a rumor invented by several of our... more creative patrons."

Nash let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank goodness," he began. "I knew this was just all some sort of stupid miscommunication blown out of proportion!"

Ezekl nodded, looking very pleased at Nash's reaction. "Yes, exactly. The library staff prefers to call it The Beast."

As Nash's face fell, Sierra struggled to fight of a fit of the giggles. "Oh yes, Nash, _such_ an improvement."

Nash folded his arms, looking irritated. "So, it's a beast, huh?"

Ezekl nodded. "Growls and howling in the library. All very menacing."

Nash's eyebrow arched as his gaze fell on several long rows of tables filled with library patrons. "But you haven't closed down the library? People can still come in and out?"

Ezekl looked appalled. "Mr. Clovis, our library here is the largest and most influential on the continent. We can't simply _shut down._" Ezekl smoothed the front of his vest, as if trying to calm down. "Furthermore, the problems have been mostly confined to our 'special collections' wing," he added, and it was hard not to notice that he seemed to be trying to justify the decision to himself.

"'Special' collections?" Nash asked. "Yeah, this sounds promising."

Sierra rolled her eyes at Nash's vocal pessimism. "Well, then, we should probably start _in _the special collection wing itself."

Ezekl inclined his head. "Of course. Please, follow me."

Ezekl leaded them to a small flight of stairs at the rear of the main hall. Down its seemingly endless depths waited a small waiting room dominated by a large oaken double door with the words 'Special Collections' emblazoned on them. A heavy looking padlock hung from the door handles.

Ezekl inserted a key into the padlock. "When there was a rash of sightings on the same day, and when that howling wouldn't _stop_, the administration made the decision to close down the wing." An odd look flashed across his face. "After we evacuated everyone, of course."

This made Nash highly uncomfortable, because apparently Ezekl had felt the need to specify what should have just been assumed.

Ezekl slowly (nervously?) opened the twin doors, revealing a small foyer dominated by a pair of long and heavy looking wooden tables. Hallways led off on the far wall into darkened recesses of the deeper parts of the wing. "My point is that everything here has been untouched since the day the Beast appeared," he continued.

He gestured towards the pair of tables, both covered in books and other reference materials.

Sierra and Nash caught his drift almost immediately. But just for confirmation's sake... "So, you think that some of the research somebody was doing in here may have...?"

Ezekl nodded. Nash was less than pleased by this revelation; this was reflected in the less than excited expression with which he favored the pile of books. "Well then," he declared, rotating and flexing his right arm as if he were about to wade into a brutal slugfest. "I guess we have no choice." He glanced slyly over at Sierra. "Who says I never show you a good time?"

Sierra primly sat down at one end of the table. "Save the sweet talk, Nash," she chided coolly, "Because we have a _lot _of reading to do."

**OOO**

With an overly dramatic sigh, Nash slammed closed the book he had been reading. "We've been at this for _hours_!" he complained loudly. "We aren't getting _anywhere_!"

Sierra looked up from her seat across the massive table and glared at Nash. "Actually, Nash, we _have_." Her expression darkened. "Or at least, _I _have," she added. "I'm not sure what _you've_ been doing for the last few hours..."

Nash tossed his hands into the air as he stood up and circled around the table. "Oh, I'm sorry I don't find incredibly arcane texts _nearly _as interesting as you do." A smirk. "Or, I guess for you they must remind you of your long lost childhood, hmm?"

"At least _I _managed to grow up and mature, unlike _some _people I could name," she fired back immediately.

Nash nodded, apparently conceding the point. "Touché."

Sierra rolled her eyes, before tapping an illustration in the book sitting before her. "It appears that our errant researchers were interested in parallel worlds." She leaned back on her stool. "Or rather, they were interested in dragging something _in _from parallel worlds.

"And how did you come to _that _determination?" Nash asked.

Sierra favored him with a droll look. "These books didn't pull _themselves _from the shelves, Nash." She encompassed all of them with a wave of her hand. "The only purpose that someone would have in pulling _these _books would be for that very purpose."

She leaned forward in her seat, peering over the large table. "And you see that scorch mark on the floor there?"

Nash went around the table, to see a circular burn mark in the floor. "Yeah...?"

"That's characteristic of a portal to another realm being opened."

Nash frowned, staring at the burn marks for a long moment. "I'm really not sure how I missed that," he said softly, mostly to himself.

Louder, he said, "Ripping open a hole open to another dimension..." At this he smirked, punching his fist into his palm. "What, so our monster is just something that crawled out the wrong end of a Pale Gate rune? No problem," Nash announced, hitching his thumbs in his belt, "Let's just go find it and beat on it until it runs home!"

"As much as I'm sure that you would _love _that to be the answer, there might be a problem with your... _clever _brand of problem solving."

"Such as?" he asked.

At this, Sierra closed the first book, and pulled another free. This second book looked even _more _ancient than the first, covered in oddly shaped runes and symbols.

"I don't think that the portal was opened to the Pale World."

"_Not _to the Pale World?" Nash asked sharply. "But I didn't think that was possible. I mean, Pale Gate runes only go _there_, right? How else could this be done?"

Sierra looked considering. "That I don't know. The only thing powerful enough to do something like that would be either the True Gate Rune or the Dragon Rune, and we know that neither of _those_ is nearby." She frowned. "At any rate, the best course of action right now would be for you to go track down this beast, while I try to figure out a way to send it where it came from."

"Why do I always get all the glamorous jobs?" Nash asked mockingly.

"Do _you _know how to read the ancient _Yithee _dialect of the pre-collapse, proto-Sindarian language?" she countered.

"Point taken," Nash conceded as he strolled towards the stacks beyond the study room.

"And Nash," Sierra said, "I'd suggest you be careful."

"_Obviously_," he said, although he started to frown shortly thereafter. "Although the fact you felt the need to warm me tells me that this is something beyond the normal bruises and broken bones sort of thing."

For once, Sierra looked apprehensive, which troubled Nash to no end. "We aren't certain _where _this beast came from..." Sierra began. "And there are a _lot _of parallel worlds out there."

"The World of Wings and Scales to start with," Nash replied authoritatively.

Sierra nodded, though she still looked concerned. "Yes, but that's not just what I mean: the Pale World and the World of Wings and Scales are just the two most well known," she explained. "And many of these other worlds are not what we'd classify as... entirely rational."

Nash frowned. "What do you...?" Sierra, in lieu of an answer, tapped an illustration from her book. Nash's frown deepened and he leaned forward, taking a closer look. "I don't see the problem. It's just a bunch of people out on a sunny day and—"

A chill suddenly shot down his back. What he had taken for the sun was actually a giant _eye_, floating in the sky... with _two_ pupils. The forms he had taken for people were vaguely humanoid, but... _built... wrong_. _Where's that one's head..? _Nash wondered in horror – imagine a person, but only with more misshapen limbs where their head _should _have been. Things only got worse from there.

He leaned back, trying to mentally shake himself. "So you're saying..."

"We have no idea what is out there. _Or _how much of a threat it could be." She glanced back at the wooden doors behind them, which were the only way in or out of the Special Collections wing. "_Or _how much damage it could do if it managed to escape this wing and got out into the general populace."

Nash stared for a long hard moment at the doors. Though Ezekl had locked the doors when he had left Nash and Sierra down there (they had a spare key for when they were 'finished'), the heavy oaken doors looked suddenly very flimsy to his eyes.

Nash took a deep breath. "Okay. You get started, while I try and go find out what exactly we're up against." Of course, even as he said that, he wasn't exactly relishing the task.

**OOO**

Nash's enthusiasm had only damped further as he wandered the Special Collections stacks alone, the weak light cast by an oil lamp his only company. _No, of _course, _the Special Collection wing has to be under lock and key in the _basement. _After all, it simply wouldn't do to have a Special Collection _atrium _or a Special Collection _conservatory _or something halfway normal with natural light and everything! _

Something skittered down one of the aisle ways to his right. He froze, lifting the lamp higher. When nothing stirred again, he narrowed his eyes, and resumed his solitary march. _You're hearing things, Nash. Try and keep it together, hmm? _

Nash trekked on alone through the rear of the wing, every so often treading past abandoned study nooks. Each one – with books still haphazardly scattered and notebooks open and even a half-eaten sandwich on one table – only added to the quietly unnerving atmosphere of the library.

Nash came to a standstill. _There! There was that same skittering again! _Nash peered into the gloom, but nothing seemed to stir within the weak light cast by the oil lamp. Nash narrowed his eyes. _Fine, if that's how you want to play it... _He shuttered the front of the lamp, quickly bathing him in darkness.

Nothing stirred... But then Nash noticed an odd glow in the distance, about six or seven aisles down from where he stood. _That almost looks like another oil lamp... But I thought Ezekl said that they had evacuated everyone _before _they locked the entire wing up. _Nash frowned. _Maybe he was just trying to convince himself when he said that, or maybe just assuage a guilty conscious about_—

And then something brushed past Nash's leg, and the skittering got even louder, and his heart rate suddenly shot through the roof, and _ohgod, why can I get the damn lamp shutter open _and_ this is how it ends, in a stupid library in the dark!?_ and_—_

A midsized rat stared up at Nash from the ground, cocking its head at his panicked expression and the lamp shaking in his hand, before dashing off back into the stacks. Nash let out a _huge _sigh of relief. "A rat... Just a stupid rat..." he said, mad at himself for getting worked into such a lather over nothing.

_But that wasn't nothing... _he thought as he looked back in the direction where he had seen the weak light. "That was definitely something..." he murmured to himself determinedly, as he hurried in that direction.

A short walk brought him closer to the light, and a new section of the Special Collection wing: placards on the ends of the rows proudly proclaimed the area something called 'crypto-zoology.' As Nash edged into the area, he spotted almost immediately an old man at the center bookcase. He had long and stringy gray hair, and was wrapped in an incredibly battered looking brown robe with purple trim.

He seemed completely nonplussed at the giant, empty, and darkened wing around him. And as if the scene weren't surreal enough, a small lamp—the source of the anomalous light—hovered over the old man's right shoulder. Literally just... _hovered_.

"The great wizard. Crowley," the robed man said suddenly, unprompted and without turning around.

This caused Nash to jump, as he hadn't even announced himself yet. "Excuse me?" Nash asked, and he stepped closer.

"My name. Crowley. You were about to ask."

"I—" Nash closed his mouth, looking perplexed. "Well, uh, okay..." He frowned. "Crowley, eh?" he asked. Nash folded his arms. "Listen, I don't know how you got in here, but this section of the library is supposed to be closed off to visitors." Nash's brow furrowed. "Actually, what are you even _doing_ down here in the dark?" he pressed.

And then, without his cloak so much as shifting slightly, Crowley turned almost unnaturally fast to face Nash—it was almost as if one moment he had been facing one direction, and then another the next. Crowley cocked his head to one side, his withered features otherwise unchanged. "What are _you _doing in the middle of my experiment?" he countered.

"Experiment?" Nash asked.

"I'd suggest you be careful," Crowley continued, as if he hadn't heard Nash. Crowley then turned back to the books—again with unnatural speed—apparently having lost interest in Nash. "The experiment makes the reality here thin. Tattered."

_Reality is thin? What on earth is this nutter talking about? _"What experiment?" Nash demanded instead.

"You could fall right through to another world right now..." Crowley added, musingly. "And then there's _It_."

"It?" Nash asked rhetorically. "Are you talking about the Beast? Do you know anything about it? If you do, you need to—"

"Of course I don't know anything about it," Crowley answered immediately. "That's why I brought it here: to_ learn_."

By this point, Nash's frustration was boiling over. "Listen, are you going to give me a straight answer, or are you—"

"Ah," Crowley said suddenly, interrupting. He turned, looking down one of the gloomy side corridors. "It comes."

"_What _comes!?" Nash demanded... only to wish he hadn't.

Down the corridor Crowley had indicated, came a soft scraping noise. Something was coming towards them. "Hello?" Nash called out, lifting his lamp at least higher. _What, do we have a whole _convention _of people down here that I didn't know about?_ he thought sarcastically.

He peered into the darkness again. In the dim shadows, he could just make out a shape... surprisingly large, maybe the size of a smallish grizzly bear and crawling on all fours. Nash's frown deepened. _Make that on all sixes... _It emitted a strange, popping growl that echoed throughout the stacks.

"What in heaven's name is...?" But when Nash turned back to demand an explanation from Crowley, he was gone. It was like he had simply vanished.

The creature in the darkness drew closer. It was easier to make out more details. It looked a bit like a lion crossed with a bear, with a lizard: Big like a bear, but a more feral head (it was clearly a predator) complete with a mane, and skin like a sickly green lizard.

_Well, that's not _so _bad, _Nash thought to himself... only to watch as it opened four additional eyes on the ridge of its upper back. And then its mane began to writhe, revealing it to be made _entirely _of short, stubby tentacles.

It was at about that point that Nash's nerve broke. "Why does it have so many eyes!?" Nash cried out, taking several large staggering steps back. The beast didn't apparently like that, lowering on its haunches, baring its very crooked but still very sharp teeth, and letting loose another popping growl.

And then the chase was on. Nash bolted, his lamp casting irregular shadows over the stacks, as behind him the Beast let loose its popping growl and plowed after him.

**OOO**

On the other side of the Special Collection wing, Sierra looked up from the ponderous texts she labored through. "What on earth is that racket?" she asked the relative calm around her.

Her expression blanched. "Ugh. I guess that means Nash has found our little beastie..." she posited mirthlessly. "Is that man simply _incapable _of doing things in a quiet and collected manner?" she asked no one in particular. "No," she continued in a mocking voice, "of course that's impossible, because otherwise things would just be too _simple _and _boring _for our indestructible super spy, wouldn't it?"

With an aggravated sigh, she went back to picking her way through the text. _Someone _was going to have to do the unenviable scholarly legwork if they had any hope of _ever _resolving the library's little problem...

**OOO**

A good fifteen minutes later, Nash came to a stand still, panting alone in the dark. He stood in front of a row of what looked to be tiny study rooms, the rest of the stacks behind him. "Did... Did I lose it?" Nash asked, panting.

As if to answer, the popping growl wafted to his ears. It wasn't _that _close, but still too close for comfort. "I'll take that as a no," Nash continued breathlessly, flinging open the nearest of the study room doors and running inside.

Slamming the door behind him, Nash took several steps back. The door probably wouldn't hold the Beast back for long, but it might just give him a couple of minutes to catch his breath... or it _would _have, if not for...

"What trickery is this!?" someone behind him shouted.

Nash spun around to confront the voice, only to see... _himself_. But unlike his adventures in Viki's... place, this Nash wasn't simply a younger version of himself. This Nash stared back with cold eyes, filled with equal parts command and disdain. And he was dressed as a bishop of Holy Harmonia. 'He' resembled what Nash always imagined—feared?—he might have ended up as if the Latkje's hadn't met such an ignominious end.

"What _is_this!?" Bishop Latkje demanded, both hands dropping to a sword belted at his hip.

The act reflexively caused Nash to draw his own knives. "I could be asking you the same question," Nash said evenly.

"What are you? A demon? Or simply a poor impostor?" Bishop Latkje asked.

"Poor imposter!?" Nash fumed.

"I would never be caught in such... _dreary _rags," Bishop Latkje declared. "You clearly needed to do more research on me. And the likeness is hardly perfect!"

"Listen, buddy, I'm not the one with the stick up his ass!" Nash retorted immediately. His nose crinkled. "_Or _wearing the silly hat..." he added.

"You filthy _peasant_—" Bishop Latkje began, only to be cut of by that same odd popping growl echoing through the library. "Damn... As if I don't have enough problems on my hands right now..." he muttered.

Turning his attention back to Nash, he again canted his head in a highly arrogant matter. "Listen well, _impostor_, as I have a far more pressing crisis to deal with and _shant _repeat myself."

Nash's eyes flicked towards Bishop Latkje's door. "Got your own demon from some other plane of space to deal with, eh?" he guessed.

When Bishop Latkje didn't respond, Nash took the opportunity to scan the room around him. "Listen, pal, I don't know what's up with this room, but if you'd concentrate less on being an _insufferable ass_ and more on your environment, I'd think you agree with me."

"What's that supposed to—" Bishop Latkje began, only to stop short, his eyes narrowing. "What _is _that humming?" he asked, sound rather distracted. "And... is the room _shimmering_?" he continued.

Nash nodded. Indeed, the room did shimmer, but only just at the edge of one's vision... "Listen, something is _definitely _wrong in this library and I think this," and here he gestured with a finger back and forth between the two of them, "is some sort of related cosmic screw up."

Bishop Latkje's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you saying, peasant?" he asked. "That we simply back out of this room and go back our separate ways?"

Nash nodded slowly.

The bishop's expression turned sour. "_Fine_: I shall make you an offer. Remove yourself from my sight, and I shall consider the matter forgotten."

Nash glanced back to his side of the mirrored room. "Fantastic. Let's just ease on back out of here, shall we?" he asked, taking several steps back.

Bishop Latjke mirrored his steps, but his expression was still arch. "I warn you, though, if I ever see you again, you shant be spared _any_ of my wrath."

As the two slowly backed away from one another, Nash shook his head. "Buddy, if that ever happens, feel free."

The two blindly groped for their door handles, pulling their doors open. Both moved halfway through their doors, stopped and glared at one another distrustfully, before finally slipping all the way through and slamming their doors behind them.

"That was weird..." Nash said, once 'safe' in the hall. "Man, if I never see that room again," Nash began, turning back to the door as if to mark it as dangerous, "I can—"

Nash stopped short. He had turned only to find a solid wall where the door had been. "Okay...." Nash said quietly, immediately casting his eyes down either side of the hall, as if checking to see if anyone else had seen that madness. "I'm completely willing to forget that ever happened if you are." While it wasn't clear who Nash was talking to—the world, fate, the wall, himself, Bishop Latkje—he nodded quickly. "Deal."

He started to tromp off down the corridor before stopping, turning, and marking a giant 'x' where the door had been with some chalk. "No sense in taking chances..." he muttered as he stalked off.

**OOO**

As Nash continued to wander alone in the dark, he soon stumbled upon almost a classroom of sorts, with a chalkboard pinned up against the wall and even an astrolabe on a side table. And standing at the chalkboard, scratching away, was Crowley again.

"Crowley!" Nash called. "What on earth is going on down here!?" Nash demanded, one hand resting on a knife hilt, the other fingering the edge of a rune scroll. _No sense in taking chances with this guy... _

Crowley paid him only the briefest of glances. "...all part of my experiment," Crowley 'explained,' still scratching away at the chalk board.

"Experiment?" Nash asked warily.

"Interplexing of a critical mass of Pale Gate runes... See?" Crowley asked, raising one arm and pulling back a sleeve. Nash watched in shocked silence as his arm was literally covered in Pale Gate runes... only to watch as they seemed to vanish, leaving Crowley's arm without a rune on it.

"So you did bring that... _thing _here. But how is that possible, with just a bunch of Pale Gate runes?"

"A single Pale Gate rune has only the power to piece the dimensional veil to the Pale World. But have enough attached and their power increases exponentially... more than enough power to piece the veil to higher dimensionality."

"O-okay," Nash began, looking a bit out of depth, "I'm just going to assume that makes sense."

"Oh it does," Crowley said quickly, for the first time his voice being filled with something approximating actual emotion. "And that possibility makes for all sorts of research opportunities."

"Like the Beast," Nash said dryly. "Listen, your little research experiment has put a _lot _of people in danger, not to mention that the fine library administration here would like their special collections wing back at some point."

Of course, Nash might as well have been speaking Sindarian for all the listening Crowley did. "Did you come here alone?" Crowley asked instead. "If you didn't, then you should collect your colleagues and leave now. The experiment is almost over."

"Trust me," Nash began, for the moment disarmed, "my partner is the _last _person I would worry about right now. If that beast so much as looks at her funny, she'll probably introduce it to the business end of her true rune."

"I thought I detected a true rune..." Crowley mused, actually pausing from his scratching on the chalkboard for a moment. "That would make for an interesting match up... If any runes—true runes or not—would work on _It_."

This announcement snapped Nash's attention right back to the old wizard. "W-wait, _what_!?" Nash demanded, rushing over and grabbing a double fist-full of Crowley's cloak and dragging him close.

"The Beast doesn't conform to the same law of physics," Crowley explained, in his distracted tone. "So why would runes have any effect? They might not even _recognize _the Beast as a target." He calmly brushed Nash's grip off him, as he eerily floated—yes, floated, just as his lamp did—back to the chalkboard. "Really, such an interesting creature..."

Nash froze for a moment, feeling helpless as he watched Crowley obliviously peruse books, looking completely unconcerned with what he just told Nash.

"Sierra!" Nash called, turning and dashing off.

It was only then that Crowley's attention was diverted from the bookshelf. Watching after Nash's shrinking form, he pursed his lips. "Interesting..."

**OOO**

Back on the other side of the Special Collection wing, Sierra was still hard at work deciphering texts that were several times _older _than even the impressively old stones making up the One Temple Library. She was distracted in this effort by an odd popping growl...

She looked up to see what had to be the ugliest bear she had ever seen shamble into the light of her lantern. Her eyes narrowed. "I take it _you're _the infamous 'ghost' of the library?" Sierra asked, as the six-legged Beast edged into the study area. The Beast, obviously, declined to comment.

"That's a mistake," Sierra murmured self-confidently, as the six legged Beast shambled closer. Casually standing, Sierra raised her right hand. "I'd stay back if I were you."

When the Beast did nothing of the sort—cautiously edging forward another several steps—Sierra smiled. "Your funeral, then..." She raised her hand, palm outward, towards the beast. "Blue Moon Rune, help me show this beast the errors of its ways."

When nothing happened, Sierra didn't... _quite _start to panic. "Blue Moon Rune?" She fought the absurd notion to shake her hand as if it had suddenly become defective.

The Beast advanced, the wriggling tentacle 'mane' suddenly becoming more aggravated in what Sierra hoped wasn't anticipation. Scowling, Sierra tried her left hand, only to find her Darkness rune wasn't working either. "Oh _hell_," she muttered, as the Beast suddenly growled and pounced.

Sierra managed to duck down and to the left (thankfully, the Beast apparently wasn't canceling out her speed) as the Beast plowed forward. The Beast's momentum and mass sheared the table she had been sitting at in half, sending books and papers flying everywhere.

Her eyes narrowed as the Beast skidded to a halt. "Fine," she said to no one in particular, as she pulled off her shawl and rolled her sleeves up. "Fine, we'll just do this the old fashioned way," she declared ominously, her left hand curled into a fist, and her right quickly drawing free three of her throwing knives. She stood her ground as the Beast regained its feet and turned to face her.

The Beast rushed her, snarling. In one swift movement Sierra flung out her knives, only to watch as they all bounced off the Beast harmlessly–apparently the off-color ridges on the Beast's head were made of something _hard_, perhaps bone, perhaps some sort of scale. Either way, her knives weren't having much effect.

She ducked out of the way as the Beast came crashing home again, but pivoted on her left foot and sped after the Beast. The Beast noticed this only too late, as, with a defiant expression, Sierra savagely slammed a fist into the Beast's side—only to pull her arm back and cradle her fist. "Ah..." she said, coming to a stop as she was so startled at feeling such... _pain _for the first time in decades.

The Beast skidded to a halt again, itself pivoting back to face Sierra, its terrible long face watching her with interest. It lunged again, but this time with one of its too close for human arms extended in a grabbing motion. Despite still cradling her arm, Sierra ducked its first grab. Frustrated, the Beast raked out its front claws, again and again. Sierra still easily dodged each, finally dropping to a knee at one point to duck one particularly desperate lunge.

Both claws only narrowly missed her head, ruffling her hair... only to get smashed across the face as the Beast whipped its surprisingly long and surprisingly heavy tail around. She was knocked flying, slamming into (through!) at least two bookshelves before rolling to a stop.

Sierra groaned, slow to sit up. And when she did, she felt an odd wetness on one lip. Her fingers flew to the site, and she was shocked as they came away bloody. She shakily got back to her feet. Not that far away, the Beast eyed her from the other side of the two bookcases she had been knocked through.

This was not going well.

**OOO**

"Sierra!" Nash shouted, as he came crashing into Special Collection wing's foyer.

He froze for a second as he took in the scene of Sierra and the Beast's first battle, his eyes lingering specifically on the sheared in half table. Fear now joining the adrenaline in his system, his eyes started to scan the area. "Sierra!?" he called again.

Still there was no answer. Not _quite _in a panic yet, Nash started to follow the trail destruction that led off from the foyer.

Three wrecked bookshelves and two tables later, Nash could clearly make out the sounds of a hard-pressed vampire struggling with an other-dimensional creature. "Sierra!" Nash shouted, doubling his speed.

One second Nash was speeding through the dark, the next he came to a stumbling halt as he was blinded by lit lamps appearing out of nowhere.

"Nash..." Sierra called, more of a tired gasp than a yell. When Nash's eyes had cleared, he discovered two things. One, somehow, he was right back in Crowley's little classroom nook, chalkboard and astrolabe and all. (And this greatly confused him, because hadn't that been on the far side of the library?) Two, Sierra had not been having an easy time with the Beast.

She was crouching now, a throwing knife in each hand, as she and the Beast considered each other from opposite sides of one the tables.

"Are you okay!?" he called.

She nodded, though from the slow way she did so it was obvious she was a bit hazy. A thin trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth, and she had what looked to be the beginning of a black eye–standing out especially against her pale skin. As she took a step closer, she winced as she shifted her weight onto her left leg.

Seeing all that together, it was more than enough to make Nash _mad_. Knives flicked into his hands almost immediately, and before he had even thought things through all the way he was rushing at the Beast. "Nash! Wait!" Sierra called.

But Nash didn't heed her, instead dodging the Beast's tail whip, inverting the grip on one knife, and striking out for the Beast's hindquarters. The Beast's hide proved fairly resistant; on the other hand, Nash was uniquely motivated. Through sheer dedication, several small scratches appeared in what had here-to-fore been impenetrable scales.

As if to get away from Nash, the Beast jumped onto the table with the astrolabe, knocking the device to the floor and shattering it to pieces. From inside the device rolled out a Pale Gate rune.

Sierra spied it almost immediately. "Nash!" she called, gesturing to the orb rolling across the floor, "I need that Pale Gate rune!" she called.

Nash's gaze flicked back and forth between her and the rune, and then over to the Beast, still perched on the table, its six eyes tracking each of Nash's movements.

He nodded, a sudden cocksure smile stealing onto his face. "Whatever you say, Sierra."

Nash feinted forward and left. The Beast went for it, crashing forward to where it thought Nash would be. Nash, meanwhile, threw himself in a lunge, skidding along on his belly, until his hand closed around the crystal. "Catch!" he called, hurling it towards Sierra.

Sierra caught it... barely. "K-keep it busy, while I attach the rune..." she commanded, her weariness apparent in her voice.

"You can do that?" Nash asked, as he pulled free a rune scroll.

"It's... not something that I particularly _like _to do," Sierra explained distractedly, "but you live as long as I have, you pick up a thing or two."

Normally, Nash would have followed that with a witty comment on her incredible age, but, in all honesty, his lady was looking so battered that his heart just wasn't in it.

As Nash fired off his rune scroll—unfortunately, the clay spires went wide, savaging the chalk board but little else—Sierra got to work. Taking a deep breath she began to move her hands in overly esoteric fashions, before groaning painfully as the rune embedded itself in her forehead.

Nash, distracted by the sight of the rune crystal vanishing into Sierra's forehead, snapped his attention back to the beast, only to find it charging. It tackled Nash, and the two crashed to the floor. Rearing its head back, the Beast then lunged forward with its teeth. Nash's knives whipped back into his hands just in time to block... but it was obvious Nash's strength was failing, and Beast's snapping jaws drew ever closer...

"Sierra!?" Nash called in desperation.

Sierra took a deep breath, before regaining her feet, and holding one hand out. "Now, Nash! Get clear!"

With a grunt, Nash kicked both feet up and braced them against the Beast's chest. Then, with a might roar, he kicked off with both legs, sending the Beast skidding away from him, even Nash he dug in his heels slid back and away.

"Be... _gone_!" Sierra screamed, as the symbol of a pale gate rune traced itself on the ground where the Beast was standing. It only had time to look down—confused—before an orb-like gate surrounded it, winds howling and a too bright light everywhere...

And then like that it was all over. The library returned to the too-dark place it had been, and the only sound that could be heard was the harsh breathing of Nash and Sierra.

From his prone position on his back, Nash awkwardly craned his head back to stare at Sierra. "Where...?" he asked breathlessly.

Sierra shook her head, panting. "...just a gate to the Pale World... That's all I could manage with this..."

Nash shook his head. "If anything can hold its own there, _that _thing can," Nash muttered, staring at the burn marks from where Sierra had opened the portal.

"Gaah!" Sierra suddenly shouted, clutching her forehead. Nash watched wordlessly as the Blue Moon Rune on her hand suddenly started to glow, as did the Pale gate rune on her forehead—they apparently weren't getting along all of a sudden. Before he could even react, the Pale gate rune suddenly re-crystallized before landing on the ground with a soft 'plink.'

And then Sierra dropped to her knees, before slumping over. "Sierra? Sierra!" Nash called, quickly crawling over to where she had collapsed...

**OOO**

Director Ezekl nervously paced in front of the Special Collection wing's double doors, rapidly working the key to the doors in his hands. There had been a _titanic _racket coming from inside—they had even heard it in the study rooms on the third floor!

His indecisiveness over whether or not to open the door and investigate for himself, however, came to an abrupt end as the door clicked open from the inside.

"H-Hello...?" Ezekl asked, trying to peer into the darkness.

Nash struggled out from the gloom. He was battered and bleeding, and dragged along a half conscious Sierra, one of her arms slung over his neck. Without breaking their—admittedly slow—progress out of the library, Nash glared at Ezekl. "We've taken care of your little problem," he stated flatly.

But when Ezekl started to offer his thanks, Nash held up a hand. "Save it. I don't want to hear it," he said bitterly.

And as the two started to climb the stairs to the main library... "And the next time you've got a problem down there, _find someone else!_" he yelled back in irritation.

Speechless, Ezekl just watched the two of them go, before turning to peer into the Special Collection wing... or rather, the _ruins _of the Special Collections wing, with tables outright sheared in half, several bookcases either toppled over or with many of their shelves collapsed or sagging, not to mention the books and papers that were _everywhere_.

And then before Ezekl's disbelieving eyes, he watched as _someone else_ wandered out into the light. "M-Master Crowley! I thought you had left some time ago!"

Crowley, as one might expect, totally ignored Ezekl. "Hmm. More research to be done. He threw himself in front of that thing... for _love_?" He stalked—or perhaps _hovered_—out of the library. "Irrational. Strange. I'll need more information," he declared, before vanishing abruptly into midair.

**OOO**

Hours later, back in Circle Palace...

"Nash...?" Sierra asked, her eyes finally fluttering open. She was sprawled out on the bed, a wet cloth over her forehead.

Nash was stationed in a chair right next to the bedside. "Right here," Nash said quickly, both hands clasping Sierra's.

"Where are...?" she started, half sitting up. "Is the Beast—!?" she asked suddenly, quickly snapping all the way up. But she had risen too quickly, and her face was soon awash in pain.

"Shh, shh, shh," Nash said, easing her back down. "Take it easy. We took care of the Beast, remember?" he asked. He punched the air. "A one way ticket to the Pale World. You earned yourself quite a shiner in the process, though."

Sierra's expression turned solemn. "It's been over 800 years since I've felt like this..." she says quietly. "I was nearly helpless against that thing, Nash," she continues. "That's... that's not something I..." She breaks off. "If you hadn't..." She takes a deep breath. "I was scared, Nash..." she admits, her voice thick.

For a long moment, Nash doesn't say anything, just stroking the back of her hand. "Hey, try and look on the bright side," Nash says lightly, after a few minutes. "It's nice to know my lady isn't _totally _invincible."

This did nothing to improve Sierra's mood... even at the same time as it did. "If I could move right now, I'd hit you," Sierra managed through the pain.

"I know," he said warmly, before bending down and kissing her forehead. "Rest now, dear," he said quietly, brushing back her hair. "I'll keep an eye out." True to his word, Nash sat down and kept watch at her bedside, even when the last candle had burned out.


	12. Mission to Tinto, Pt 1

_Ebony Moon Rising – Chapter 12: Mission to Tinto, Part I_

Prime Minister Marlowe had not been having a good morning.

Apparently, President Gustav had moved the moved the date for the reception—the _gala _reception celebrating Tinto's two year anniversary, the same reception which had been painstakingly planned for _months_—up by a week... _without _informing the presidential staff. And apparently he had done this some time ago, but only thought to mention it _the morning of_.

The practical result was that the guests were arriving even as the harried presidential palace staff was engaged in a_ titanic_ struggle to mount a halfway decent reception regardless. Not that they didn't have their hurdles to overcome. Marlowe's expression blanched as he strode down the halls of the palace, his mind quickly running down some of the worst of their problems.

First, the bakers had been thrown into a tizzy, and 'explained' to him in loud tones that there was _no way _the centerpiece cake would be completed in time. (That problem had only been narrowly resolved, by bribing a baker in town to 'repurpose' a large wedding cake for a very large fee.)

Second, half of the palace staff were off on holiday (as they were supposed to be resting up for the event to be held _next _week) and Marlowe was constantly surrounded by runners as they went to and fro updating him on who they could find, who they had to replace, and how much the temp staff was going to cost them.

Finally, it was a _nightmare _trying to organize all the rooms for the now-earlier-than-expected incoming guests. Hell, some of the guest rooms didn't even have _beds _in them yet! The guest wing was the latest addition to palace, and the last batch of matching bedroom sets weren't expected up from Two Rivers until the following week...

And those problems had only been the main attractions, not even counting the dozens upon dozens of tiny little issues the crept up every several minutes—where's this decoration, we're out of silver polish, the appetizers won't be ready for another hour, etc, etc.

As Marlowe came to a stop in front of the broad double doors leading to the main reception hall, he smoothed his ceremonial robes and did his best to chase the last of his frustrations from his face—it would hardly do for the prime minister to look _cross _at his own country's reception, would it? _Especially _if that reception happened to be the first _international _reception held by Tinto as an independent nation!

Once convinced that his expression was collected enough, Marlowe nodded to the palace staffer by the door. The staffer nodded back, and swung the broad double doors inward. "Now arriving, the Prime Minister of Tinto, Marlowe Cody!" the staffer announced.

A light round of applause greeted Marlowe as he crossed the threshold into the next room, plastering a bland smile on his face and limply offering one hand in acknowledgement. The applause was hardly the resounding ovation that President Gustav had received just a few hours earlier, but Marlowe would take it without complaining.

As the clapping died down, and the guests returned to their meaningless small talk, Marlowe took the opportunity to get his first good look at the room—the staffers had finished decorating just minutes before the first guests had been admitted earlier that morning, and Marlowe hadn't had a spare moment since then to scope out the final product. Several flags—all Tinto's—hung limply from the ceiling rafters, and red, white, and silver bunting was absolutely _everywhere_ in the reception hall. In Marlowe's opinion it all came off as laid on a bit too thick, but President Gustav had insisted, and when President Gustav insisted, no one cared to argue.

Well, that was enough of scenery watching, Marlowe decided unhappily; he was going to have to mingle with some of the guests at _some _point in the night, and he might as well get started sooner rather than later. Taking a moment to grab a glass of champagne from a refreshment table as cover, he covertly scanned the crowd as he tried to decide where to begin.

Almost immediately, his gaze fell upon a knot of armor clad guests (some barely out of their _teens_!)—it was obvious they were a group, and their (aged) leader was making polite conversation with President Gustav. Marlowe nodded to himself: those would be the Maximillian Knights, then.

The Toran Republic had been one of the first countries invited to the reception—an effort by President Gustav, most assumed, to bury the memories of the long and bitter history between Toran and Tinto. President Lepant, however—bowing to popular public sentiment—politely declined to sent representatives (the City States invasion following the Gate Rune War apparently still too fresh in the mind of Toraners even now).

The presence of the Toran Maximillian Knights, then, might seem a bit incongruous, given the Lepant Administration's seemingly cool attitude towards Tinto. It was something of an open secret, however, that it had been President Lepant himself who had privately asked Lord Maximillian to come out of retirement one last time, and attend Tinto's reception.

Considering that Maximillian and his Knights had_ long _since ceased to be an official Toran organization, they had no official capacity to represent Toran in any way. But their presence was highly _symbolic _(doubly so considering their history of service against the former City States, and Tinto especially). It was small, but it was a start, a tiny olive branch laying hope for future normalized relations.

(That Lepant was a crafty one, Marlowe had to admit.)

As eager as Marlowe was to talk to the legendary Lord Maximillian, he was just as _loathe _to deal with President Gustav at the moment. To his other options, then.

Marlowe next spotted Zexen delegation headed by General Lightfellow. He was about to head over that way (there were few people quite as polite and gracious as General Lightfellow), but stopped short when his eyes fell upon Lilly (just short of her teens, now), talking quite animatedly with another girl her age. Marlowe's eyes narrowed. That was General Lightfellow's daughter Lilly was speaking to...

Hadn't the two had a bit of a row a while back, Marlowe wondered. If that was true, then perhaps it was best to stay away from the Zexen delegation for now. Though they seemed to be getting along now, Lilly was know to have as mercurial a temper as Gustav and that could change quickly. If Marlowe got mixed up in the middle of that, there was always the outside chance Lilly might try to get him to banish someone from Tinto. _Again_.

On the opposite side of the room from the Zexen delegation was the Harmonian delegation, standing slightly apart from the other groups, with their neutral expressions and very impressive hats. Of course, it was hard not to notice the distrustful glances the Zexens kept shooting the Harmonian delegation on the other side of the room... or, really, how the _entire room _kept shooting the Harmonians distrustful glances. Gustav had insisted on sending an invitation to Harmonia, but no one had actually _expected _them to send representatives!

Striking up polite conversation with the Harmonians would take every single ounce of patience, guile, diplomacy, and civility that Marlowe had at his command... an effort, quite frankly, that Marlowe was in absolutely _no mood_ to make.

Marlowe had resigned himself to a dull conversation with Mayor Jess of Muse (punctuated liberally with reminders of Dunan's displeasure at Tinto's secession) when his eyes alighted on the most recent addition to the reception's guest list: Mistress Sierra, savior of Tinto!

Sierra had appeared, quite abruptly and quite unannounced, alone, that very morning. She had apparently been just stopping by on a journey elsewhere when she had heard about the reception. (Of course, considering her key role in defeating Neclord and retaking Tinto from the undead, she would have been one of the first VIPs invited to the reception, if anyone knew where she was or how to reach her.) At any rate, she had been convinced to stay and attend the gala, which only added to the prestige of the reception (or so Gustav had chortled when asked about it).

Ah. That would be an excellent place to start: Mistress Sierra always _was _so interesting to talk to. His mind made up, Marlowe made determined strides over to where Sierra was entertaining a clutch of Zexen and Dunan representatives alike.

"Whoa, hey, there, watch it!" someone suddenly called.

Marlowe turns to see a server with a massive drink tray about to plow into him. The sight of a water-logged and mortified Prime Minister would cause a massive scene—and more importantly, President Gustav would _not be happy_ with him, and would view the reception as subsequently ruined—but Marlowe's muscles seem to freeze. Everything seems to slow, the impending embarrassment approaching in agonizing detail...

"Easy there, now," that same voice declared; in the same instant, Marlowe felt a steady hand tug firmly at his collar, jerking him back and out of harm. "There—no need to make a big mess, is there?"

"Ah, yes," Marlowe says, sounding distracted as he watches the server—looking cross—glaring at him as she saunters off. After a moment, he shook his head clear, and turned to face his rescuer, bowing his head. "Thank you. You prevented a disaster in the making."

The young man waved off Marlowe's concerns, tossing his wavy hair. "Hey, no problem. As much as I wish these things were more interesting, I'd hate to have it come at someone else's expense."

Judging by his clothing and his accent, Marlowe mentally tagged him as part of the Harmonian delegation, although his relaxed manner and friendly smile placed him at odds with his comrades. "Are you having a good time, at least?" Marlowe asked.

The young man's nose crinkled and he shook his head vigorously. "Gods no." At Marlowe's horrified look, the young Harmonian suddenly held up both hands. "Oh, no, no, I didn't mean any insult! It's just, I really _hate _these sorts of functions," the young man explained, tugging at the collar of his robes. "Especially these formal clothes."

Suddenly, Marlowe's robes _also _started to feel uncomfortable. He loosened the cravat at his neck. "I know what you mean," he confided to the Harmonian after a moment.

The Harmonian then let out a defeated sigh. "Ah well," he enjoined to Marlowe. "I probably shouldn't take up any more of the Prime Minister's time. I'm sure you have a lot of other people to mingle with tonight."

"I suppose," Marlowe agreed unhappily—he was rather coming to like this young, brash Harmonian, but his duties _did _come first.

"Stay strong, hmm?" the young man added, with a deliberate tug of the collar clarifying what he meant.

Marlowe was about to turn away, but a look of confusion stole onto his face. "Oh, uh, I'm sorry," he called after the young man. "What was your name again?" he asks.

The young man seemed to take the request in stride, glancing back over a shoulder with a smile. "Clovis," he called back as he continued on to the Harmonian delegation. "Ambassador Clovis."

**OOO**

Several days earlier, in Bishop Sasarai's office in the Circle Palace...

"Ostensibly," Sasarai continued, "you'll be there to look after Harmonian interests, along with the rest of our ambassadorial delegation."

Nash's expression turned crafty. "And I'll _actually _be there to do, what, exactly?" he asked.

Sasarai's expression mirrored Nash's. "And off the record, your mission is to break into Tinto's presidential palace, and determine what Tinto's long-term foreign policy is."

Nash frowned. "To what degree?"

Sasarai swiveled his chair to face the map tacked up behind his desk. "Simply put, we need more information about Tinto's future plans."

Nash folded his arms. "And you're sure you can't just _ask _them?" he inquired.

Sasarai favored him with a droll look over his shoulder. "And reveal how _anxious _we are about its plans? Of course not, Nash."

Nash shrugged. "You can't blame me for hoping."

"_Anyway_," Sasarai continued, turning his attention back to the map, "this mission is necessary, because we've had notoriously bad luck in divining just what President Gustav is going to do next. For example, no one in Harmonia _actually _expected Gustav to go as far as to actually break Tinto away from the Republic of Dunan."

"I don't think that _Dunan_ expected it either," Nash added darkly.

Sasarai then stood, moving next to the map. "And now that it has, Gustav's first order of business will undoubtedly be to move to expand its borders."

Nash looked skeptical. "Do you really think so?"

Sas favored him with a sardonic stare. "Do you really think the tiny sliver of land that Tinto controls right now is large enough to satisfy Gustav's ego?"

Nash expression turned thoughtful. "Good point," he finally conceded.

"Now, we know that they're unlikely start a war with Dunan—they were on the same side until recently, after all. And considering their historic bad luck in seizing and holding territory in Toran—again, especially recently—I doubt they'll care to stir them either. So then, that leaves them only one of two directions to go," Sas said, gesturing on the map to the surrounding areas around the new country, "Either way he is going to invade Grasslands--that much is obvious. The question is in which direction: march west, onward toward the Zexen Confederacy, or march north, into the Grasslands proper..."

As Sasarai's finger trailed up along the map, why Harmonia was so concerned about Tinto's secession became crystal clear to Nash. "And if they do that, they could be threatening Harmonia's own interests in the Grasslands..." Nash said softly. _They could even threaten Caleria..._ At that thought, Nash felt a sudden pang. After he had lost everything, it had been Caleria that had taken him in.

Sasarai nodded. "So, now you can see the potential for a problem, and why we need you to go in and get the truth... Straight from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

"Resorting to name calling now, are we?" Nash asked, smirking.

Sasarai shrugged broadly. "I don't know _what _you're talking about, Nash." He tossed Nash a manila folder. "I suggest you get going, Ambassador Clovis."

Nash stood, then bowed formally to Sasarai. "Oh, as you wish, your most high holiness."

**OOO**

And several days later, Nash stood awkwardly to one side of the massive Tinto Presidential Palace reception hall, feeling awkward. He really hadn't been lying to Marlowe when he said that he hated big events like that. _Or _frilly formal attire like he had been forced into. And don't even get him started on meaningless small talk!

With a disconsolate sigh, Nash turned his attention across the reception hall. There, he spotted Sierra easily entertaining a small clutch of guests—including Marlowe and young Lilly Pendragon—with one of her anecdotes. Sierra had, of course, insisted on coming along with him on his mission. But this time was a little different, considering how well known she was in Tinto, what with that whole 'liberation from Neclord' thing. It would never do for them to show up _together_, lest Nash blow his cover... or Sierra blow _her _cover. Or something.

They had had to come to Tinto separately—Nash as part of the official delegation a few days ago, Sierra winging her way in that very morning. They hadn't seen each other in about a week... and now that they _were _here, he couldn't talk to her. Frankly ...it kind of sucked.

He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn't even notice when Sierra approached him. "Have a lot on your mind, Ambassador?" she asked playfully, twirling her long fluting glass and stirring the champagne inside.

"Uh..." Nash answered intelligently, before quickly glancing around the room suspiciously. "Is there anyone still—?" he began, only to be interrupted by a sudden _very_ passionate kiss from Sierra.

Disentangling herself from the kiss, Sierra rested her forehead against his, looking mischievous. "Relax, _Ambassador_," she purred. "I know you were _very _focused on your thoughts, but if you'll take a cursory look around, you notice that all the other guests have left."

For a second, Nash almost just let himself succumb to his lady's honeyed words, but he shook himself at the last moment. "What about all the palace staffers?" he asked. Indeed, there was still a veritable army of staffers hustling around the reception hall, doing their best to clean.

Sierra favored him with an arch look. "They're palace staff, Nash. You _know_ they're trained to be more than discreet if two of the guests were to just... _leave _together."

Nash could feel his resistance weakening. Sierra leaned into him, her breath hot on his ear. "Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice velvety.

"...Yes."

And for a while, he simply forgot _all about _his worries...

**OOO**

...But not for as long as he would have liked. As midnight rolled across Tinto, Nash popped awake. For a long moment, feeling the warmth of his lady at his side, he simply stared up at the ceiling. _I _could_ just roll over and go back to sleep_, he considered for a moment. With a grunt, however, he knew he didn't really have much of a choice. Casting one last longing look at Sierra, he slipped quietly from bed.

"Do you have a plan for the infiltration?" Sierra asked suddenly, as she languidly rolled over, the moonlight catching the pale skin of her shoulder.

With a sigh, Nash finished cinching the last of his belts. He nodded. "Kitchens, probably," he began, his tone becoming more and more energetic as his mind slowly finished switching over completely to espionage mode. "I saw a couple of back entrances, and at least one stairwell leading to the upper floor."

"Hmm," Sierra began, sounding thoughtful, "but aren't you forgetting that many of the kitchen staff will still be _up _right now?" she asked. "There was a _lot _of food out tonight, and imagine they're still washing their cooking pans even now."

Nash frowned. "That's a good point," he said, sounding quietly impressed.

Sierra glanced towards the window. "Look," she said softly, nodding towards the window. The guest quarters were at least partially cut into the mountain wall above the palace proper; as such most of the rooms had a nice view of the rest of the palace. "It looks like the lights are still on in the central ballroom."

"Think the staff is having a little after-party all to themselves?" Nash asked, grinning.

Sierra shrugged. "At the very least, perhaps they're still _cleaning_. I noticed that quite a few of Gustav's guests seemed to emulate his style of making as big a mess as possible."

"Hey, now, Gustav was elected to lead_, _not to _launder_," he countered.

"I don't recall Gustav being _elected,_" Sierra replied darkly.

Nash shrugged. "Close enough." And perhaps it was a lingering after-effect of the party—or, maybe more to the point, the party's alcohol—but she simply nodded and let it go at that.

Nash folded his arms, looking thoughtful as he stared at the ballroom. "If they're all still in ballroom, their quarters will probably be pretty quiet and empty..." He grinned again. "Servant quarters it is, then."

He then bent over to chastely peck Sierra on the cheek. "Wish me luck?" he asked.

Sierra nodded as Nash headed for the door, before rolling over to return to sleep. "Try not to make too much noise when you sneak back in, hmm?" she called.

**OOO**

Sierra had been right, Nash discovered as he edged his way towards the servant's quarters. The lights in the kitchens were all still shining brightly, as the cooks and other staffers literally burned the midnight oil to try and manage the massive influx of dirty plates from the reception.

It was easy enough to slip past the swinging doors that led into the kitchen, and easier still to creep down the corridor and duck into the servant's annex. He had a scare for a moment—as he stealthily sidled down the main corridor of the staffer's dorms—seeing at least one light seeping from one open door. A wind of sleep scroll in his hand, he edged up to the door and risked a look around, only to be relieved at the sight of a very drunk, and very _unconscious_ server.

The rest of the trip through the palace was less than eventful. At the far end of the servant quarters Nash found the staircase he had been looking for; before he knew it, he was on the top floor of the palace. For a second he heard what he thought was the rumbling of thunder. It was with a jolt that Nash realized that what he was hearing was actually Gustav's _titanic _snoring.

_Man doesn't believe in doing thing _anything _small, does he? _Nash thought as he crept past the presidential quarters (and the first daughter's quarters), to the far side of the floor. The presidential offices were on the opposite side of the floor from the servant's stairs (facing the rest of Tinto proper), affording President Gustav with both the best light over the course of the day, and the best view.

The broad double doors leading to the offices were locked, but it only took Nash a minute or two to get them open. Firmly latching the door behind him, Nash took stock of the Gustav's office. The first thing that struck Nash was how incredibly Spartan the offices were. The sort of man Gustav was, Nash had half expected the room to be stuffed with mounted animals and really gaudy statues. _I may be forced to reevaluate my opinion of the man... _Nash thought in wonder as he eased himself around to Gustav's desk.

Nash rifled through the few scattered papers on top of the desk—mostly, Nash assessed with a crinkled nose, having to deal with the excessive preparations for the reception. He then moved on to paw through Gustav's drawers. Moving quickly, he only briefly scanned each page, setting aside those he deemed relevant on the top of the desk.

When Nash finally turned his attention to the papers collected on the top of the desk, his expression soon turned serious. Now, obviously, Gustav wasn't about to have a single report titled "Plans for Expansion for Greater Glory of Mother Tinto" (or, perhaps more to the point, the 'greater glory of _Gustav_'). But what he have military assessments and digests, assorted topographical, resource and other maps, and of course the all important census data for the surrounding lands.

Judging by the dates, Nash reasoned, Gustav had at first kept all his options open—even another (probably disastrous) sortie into _Toran _wasn't too far-fetched judging by a short report on Moravia summer weather patterns Nash stumbled across. As the months passed after Tinto's secession, however, reports on Toran, Dunan, and the northern Grasslands (and Harmonian-occupied Grasslands) slowly faded, replaced by more and more intense reports on the sliver of Grasslands between Tinto and Zexen. ...Although, Nash noted with an arched eyebrow, considering how many additional reports on Zexen littered this pile of intelligence, there was a fair chance that in a couple of years Zexen was _not _going to be happy with Tinto.

Nash's lips pressed flat into a line. While it was all fine and good that Caleria wasn't going to be at risk (and Sas and his superiors would be terribly relieved that _their _plans for Grasslands would at least for the time being go undisturbed), Nash felt his irritation gathering with that pompous, egotistical, and apparently _ambitious _gas bag Gustav. Why, he had half a mind to—

A loud crash ringing through the office tore Nash's attention away from the paperwork. His first concern was whether he had managed to knock something over and thus blow his cover. A quick scan of the office revealed nothing out of place—even the office's door was still firmly shut.

There was another crash, followed by the sounds of a struggle. _The hallway_... Nash thought as he pinpointed the origin of the sound. Hastily sweeping the papers into one of the drawers (without bothering to re-sort them), Nash rushed back to the office's door.

He cracked the doors open, then peeked through. At first all he could make out was a number of very bulky, very heavily cloaked men mulling about just outside of one of the other rooms on the floor. After a moment, they backed up, as another of their compatriots slipped out of the room, a medium-sized form slung over one shoulder.

Nash's eyes widened as he realized just what that form was: namely, a bound and gagged Lilly Pendragon. Despite still being in nightclothes and slippers, she was struggling valiantly. But her captor held her firmly in place on his shoulder, oblivious to the kicks she landed on him.

Without thinking, Nash burst from the office. "Hey!" he shouted loudly (apparently forgetting for the moment that he was in the middle of a sneaking mission).

The bulky, cloaked men all craned around to look at the new interloper. Their leader—the one holding Lilly—frowned. He was tall man, with a well manicured black beard. He was also missing his right eye, a heavy patch covering where it should have been. "Competition, is it? Hrmph. Mantz, Piers, handle this."

Two of his followers immediately moved forward. "Yes, Sir Zepel!" they shouted as one. As they advanced, 'Sir Zepel' and his other men turned to leave.

"Not so fast!" Nash shouted again, dashing forward. When the two approaching men moved to block him, he skidded to a stop. Narrowing his eyes (and frowning as Sir Zepel, Lilly, and the others vanished around a corner), Nash leveled off his right arm and fired his wrist-mounted grappling hook. For a moment, the two men looked confused, but seeing it was nothing more than a grapple hook (now harmlessly embedded in a far wall), they resumed their advance with renewed confidence.

"Heh," Nash chuckled confidently, spooling loose a bit more of his grapple line. Without warning, he sharply jerked his arm up. His grapple line pulled taught, easily tangling up the legs of one of the men. His legs swept from under him, the fellow toppled like a house of cards, only to slam into his partner. The two dropped to the ground, and Nash reeled his grappling hook back. "Never underestimate the grappling hook," he declared confidently, stepping over his fallen foes...

...only to be taught a lesson in humility himself, as one of the two men was down, but not quite out. Scowling at Nash's 'underhanded' tactics, the man simply reached out and firmly planted a hand on Nash's ankle. This, of course, tripped Nash up, and sent him crashing down to the ground with a loud 'thunk.' Nash landed flat on his stomach, but still had to presence of mind to roll to one side. This was fortuitous, as Nash's attacker had regained his feet, drawn a sword, and slashed down at where Nash had been.

Nash kicked himself back onto his feet, took one look at the man and his drawn weapon, and didn't hesitate in the slightest to lash out with a fist. The man staggered back, before shaking his head clear and charging forward, shouting a war cry. Nash twirled past the clumsy charge, twisting and aiming to land a mean karate chop on the man's back.

"Ow!" Nash cried out, as his forearm connected with something decidedly metal sounding. "The... hell...?" Nash wondered aloud. The stranger grunted, then casually tossed his cloak aside. Nash stared on in confusion – beneath the cloak was wearing a suit of highly polished, if primitive in construction, black armor. But the most eye catching thing about the armor was the sigil on the breastplate—a black crescent moon on a silver shield.

"But that's not..." Nash began slowly.

By this point, the man had knocked out before was slowly getting back to his feet. Nash warily edged back, drawing one of his knives. Two men he might be able to take with a few of his more... unorthodox tactics. But two men in full _armor_ was the beginning of a different story...

Fortunately, before the men could press their advantage, the door just in front of Nash swung open. "What in the goddess' name is going on out here!?" Gustav demanded from the other side of the door, _finally_ roused by the racket from his deep slumber.

"Shoot!" Nash panicked. _I can't let Gustav get a good look at me!_ Nash thought wildly. As if on instinct, Nash slammed all his weight on the door, knocking the surprised (and still a little groggy) Gustav back into his room.

But that had been enough. "Guards!!" Gustav shouted, muted only slightly by the heavy door.

Nash and his two foes exchanged looks; the men in armor then bolted for the front stairs, near the president's office. Nash was about to pursue, but then watched as they blundered into a ground of Tinto guardsmen.

Relief, however, soon turned to even more panic, as the guards soon took notice of the one _other _stranger in the hall. "Oh _hell_," Nash cursed, immediately bolting for the back stairs. It would _not _look good for a Harmonian to be caught snooping around the presidential palace of Tinto the night the first daughter was kidnapped.

**OOO**

Sierra was woken from her pleasant sleep by a loud commotion coming from the palace proper. Groggily, she slipped out of her bed, and crossed to the window. She could see clearly that all the lights were blazing in the palace, and that guardsmen and staffers were frantically running back and forth through its halls. _So much for not making too much noise on his way back, _Sierra thought darkly.

"Hey," Nash suddenly called.

Sierra was startled, but she wasn't about to admit it... nor was she about to ask why Nash was hanging upside down outside of her window. Instead, she merely closed her eyes and folded her arms—one of her more thoughtful expressions. "I imagine that there is a story behind all of this?" she inquired.

Nash shifted. "I promise I will fill you in on everything... as soon as you let me in."

"What's the magic word?" she asked sweetly.

"Sierra..." Nash said quietly, a stricken look on his face.

It was at that moment that Sierra realized that something was _very _wrong. "All right..." she said quietly, opening the window.

**OOO**

The news and rumors were buzzing among the guests—probably even the entire city!—the next morning. This led to an air of uncertainty as all the guests gathered in the main dining hall for President Gustav's previously scheduled informal morning brunch. No one was sure that President Gustav would even put in an appearance now, given the circumstances.

But eventually Gustav did sweep in, looking haggard and surrounded by a group composed of equal parts advisors and personal guards. It was then he revealed that yes, the rumors were true, and that his daughter Lily had been taken in the middle of the night. And although two of the perpetrators had been captured, they refused to divulge anything.

The remaining kidnappers had holed up in a mining block house just beyond the outskirts of town. Furthermore, they claimed to be Ebony Moon Knights of Grassland, and had indeed already delivered their demands to the President that morning. Specifically, President Gustav Pendragon of Tinto was to dismantle Tinto's army, swear off territorial ambitions, and resign as the president of the Tinto Republic. Or his daughter would die.


	13. Mission to Tinto, Pt 2

_The Last Charge – Chapter 13: Mission to Tinto, Part II_

"Lord Maximillian? Are you okay?" Sancho asked, leaning forward to where Maximillian sat. He had to repeat himself as he got closer, for the noise of the crowd gathered in the dining hall of the Tinto Presidential Palace that morning was daunting.

Maximillian waved his faithful squire's concerns off. "Just a little tired," he confessed, wheezing slightly as he sat back in his chair. "These old bones of mine aren't used to getting up so early anymore."

"Don't say that, Uncle!" Isabel enjoined earnestly across from him, unthinkingly slamming a fist down into the wooden table. The fact that she—like all the knights gathered in the hall that morning—was fully armored made the noise that much louder. She folded her arms defiantly, looking sulky. "It's just this high altitude in Tinto, and this damned heat," she asserted seriously.

At her side (as ever) Mathias nodded solemnly. "My lady is correct—this is a high and arid land. A harsh place, indeed. I am confidant you will recover once we have returned to the lowlands, My Lord Maximillian."

Maximillian smiled weakly—the two were deluding themselves, but their concern for him was touching. "Perhaps you two are correct," Maximillian finally granted, if only to reassure them. (Privately, of course, he knew the truth—the years were finally catching up to him.)

He nodded to them again. "My dear niece, loyal Mathias, please, worry yourselves no more on my account." That seemed to put them both at ease. The fact that they worried over him so much was touching, especially considering, in truth, Maximillian and Isabel were not actually related—but her father _had _been one of Maximillian's most loyal knights, back in the old days; as such, when Isabel and Mathias sought him out, she had 'adopted' him, so to speak.

Besides, their like-minded dedication to_ justice_ had bound them just as tightly as any bonds of blood.

At any rate, the two were probably right, on one level: it was probably best for Maximillian to try and keep a brave face up. Diplomatic missions like these were all he had left, now. The battlefield was long behind him (unfortunately), but he would still serve his homeland—and _justice_—however he could.

"Grandfather!" Maximillian looked up to see Fred and Rico rushing through the crowd, trays of food balanced precariously in their hands.

"Ah, Grandson. I see your food reconnaissance went well," Maximillian declared as his two young charges came to a stop in front of the knight's table.

Fred clanged the two trays he held down onto the table, before offering a parade-sharp salute, Rico only a half step behind. "Yes, Grandfather!" Fred shouted. "We approached the food table, as ordered, and procured materials for our knightly order!"

At this Maximillian just smiled: the boy was trying so hard to live up to his knightly vows. It was inspiring really. Roused by his grandson's youthful energy, Maximillian nodded seriously. "Well, then, let us not let your efforts go to waste—knights, meal time!"

"Yes, Grandfather!" Fred repeated, before he and Rico took up their seats and began to dig in.

"Hey, now!" Isabel protested, dragging one of the trays away from the hungry youngsters, "Leave some for the rest of us!" At Fred's sheepish look, Maximillian and the others burst into laughter...

...But their merriment did not last. Only minutes into their meal, their host—President Gustav—burst into the dining hall, looking wretched. Maximillian warily noted the large security detail around him. Something was amiss.

Gustav conferred with several of the men around him, before stepping forward to the head of the dining room. As if on cue, the room (which had been buzzing from the moment he had appeared) suddenly quieted. Gustav coughed—once, twice—before beginning to speak. "L-Ladies and Gentlemen..." he said, his voice sounding... strained. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he repeated, "many of you have heard rumors that my daughter—Lilly—was kidnapped from the presidential palace last night..."

At this, Maximillian—he and_ all_ his knights, really—stirred, for this was the first that they had heard of such a thing. (The Maximillian Knights rarely went out seeking the latest of palace gossip.)

"Unfortunately... the rumors are true. A band of what are claiming to be Knights of the Ebony Moon from Grasslands have taken my daughter, and made demands for her safe return." A pause as the many gathered in the hall gasped. "As a result," Gustav continued, "I'm afraid that I'll have to be cutting short our festivities today. Travel arrangements are being put together as we speak. I'm sorry that Tinto's first international reception has been derailed like this, but I imagine you all understand—"

At last, Maximillian could no longer still his tongue. "The Maximillian Knights stand ready to strike at the perpetrators of this... _injustice_!" Maximillian declared, rising from his seat (his earlier fatigue forgotten). The sheer conviction and passion in his voice was hard to miss.

Across the room, Maximillian's declaration soon found a comrade. "Indeed," Sierra Mikain suddenly called, rising from where she sat, "I too have some fondness for your daughter. I would be willing to lend my service to her aid as well." Similar calls of solidarity came from the Zexen, Dunan, and Camero delegations; the Harmonian delegation simply watched the scene silently.

"_No_," President Gustav declared sharply. "No, this is a Tinto problem, and this will be resolved _by _Tinto," he declared flatly.

Isabel was on her feet immediately. "What!?" she shouted, forgetting for the moment that she was addressing a foreign head of state. "You can't be serious! We could _stomp_ those evil-doers into the dirt!

"My lady is correct," Mathias added, having leapt to his feet within seconds of his lady, "it would be little trouble enact swift and final retribution and deposit their loathsome corpses into the Tigermouth River."

"I said _no_!" Gustav roared, the old lion apparently finally roused. It was enough to even silence Isabel and Mathias. Indeed, the strength of Gustav's outburst even seemed to stun _him_, as he reeled for a long moment, before simply turning away. Raking a hand through his messy hair, Gustav spoke quietly with his advisors and bodyguards.

It was hard to not notice how absolutely _wretched _Gustav looked.

A little later, the knights were dejectedly sitting at one of the abandoned tables in the dining hall, picking at the cold remains of what was supposed to be an amazing brunch. The Harmonian and Dunan delegations, after the appropriate offers of condolences, had already departed from the capital. The Zexen and Camaro delegations were scheduled to leave later in the day. Only the knights had made no move to leave... not that there was much they could _do _at the moment, however.

"I just don't understand why he won't let us help!" Fred growled, stomping around in his oversized black armor. He may have been a little young for a knight—he was only thirteen!—but his sense of justice easily matched those of his seniors.

"Fred..." Sancho's granddaughter Rico said, trying to calm Fred down.

"Now, now, Grandson," Maximillian began, "It is... _admirable_ that Gustav is so set on handling this problem on his own," he said meditatively. "Self-reliance is one of the key tenets of the knight's code."

"But my lord, knowing when to ask for help is _also _one of the key tenets of the knight's code!" Rico proclaimed, giving voice to the collective frustration of the knights.

Maximillian sighed. "I know, Little Rico, I know." The knights collectively slumped down into depression again.

"Lord Maximillian?"

Maximillian glanced up to see Sierra and fellow he didn't recognize approaching the table. "Ah, Lady Sierra," he began, rising quickly before his creaking joints dropped him into a (slightly rusty) bow. "I had hoped to get a chance to tell you how wonderful it is to see you again. You look even lovelier than when we fought together in the Orange Army."

Sierra bowed her head at the compliment. "Thank you. But at the moment, I think we all have bigger concerns on our minds." It was obvious what she was referring to.

Maximillian nodded. "Shame Gustav won't let us help. Injustice must be punished, you know," Maximillian lamented. He then noticed that the fellow at Sierra's side seemed to be nudging Sierra about something. _Harmonian? _Maximillian thought in surprise, taking another glance at the man. He was surprised he had chosen to remain behind when the rest of his party had left.

"Is something amiss?" Sancho—at Maximillian's side—asked, glancing between the two.

Sierra looked uncomfortable, inclining her head again. "About the... _situation_. My..." her expression soured, "_associate_ here has something he wishes to discuss with you and your knights."

"Something to... discuss?" Maximillian asked, intrigued.

**OOO**

It wasn't that Nash was feeling... _guilty _exactly. He had done his best to foil the kidnapping and rescue Lilly (itself something of a 'above and beyond' moment, considering he was spying on her father at the time!). Even so, something deeply offended him about what the kidnappers were doing.

It had of course occurred to him to try and infiltrate the building where the knights were holed up... But if he was going to try and take on a well fortified force of would-be knights, he was going to need some slightly more significant firepower than just some rune scrolls and the rest of his bag of tricks.

If you were going to try and take on a party of knights, you were going to need a few knights of your own. Convenient, then, that Sierra apparently knewthe legendary Lord Maximillian!

After Sierra's awkward introduction, Nash immediately stepped forward. "Lord Maximillian," Nash began breathlessly, "My name is Nash, and I'm hoping you'll help me put a stop to these kidnappers."

"That's... very forward, young man," Maximillian began, stroking his beard slowly.

"You'll find that Nash here doesn't usually bother with things like _tact_," Sierra added slyly.

"Look who's talking," Nash shot back, before turning his attention back to Maximillian. "I know it's a bit abrupt, but the situation being what it is, I don't think we have much time to dilly-dally."

Maximillian inclined his head. "Have you managed to make Gustav change his mind, then?" he asked.

Nash didn't flinch. "Not in the slightest. But I do have a few ideas about getting around that."

This at least caused Maximillian to chuckle—he was starting to like this forward young man. "Ideas, eh?" He nodded. "Well, then, tell me what ideas you have to deal with these 'Ebony Moon' knights."

At his side, Sancho nodded. "Yes, even assuming Gustav wouldlet us help and it was a fair fight, if these _are _Knights of the Ebony Moon, then we'd still have a hard fight ahead of us."

"No, that's impossible," Nash broke in authoritatively, "because the last person in _decades_ to gain status as a Knight of the Ebony Moon was Georg-who-needs-no-second-strike." Nash coughed. "Er, I mean, Georg Prime."

"Bit of a fan, are we?" Sierra asked, mockingly.

Nash reddened. "Shut up..."

"So they're fakes?" Isabel asked.

"I've seen something like this before..." Nash explained, sounding thoughtful. "A bunch of bandits co-opting a local legend as a quick and dirty way to get some legitimacy for their own gain."

"Bandits..." Maximillian began, as if tasting the word for the first time.

"Bandits sullying the good name of _real _knights like Sir Georg," Isabel added, her voice rising.

"Bandits trampling over knightly vows!" Fred chimed in.

At last, it was too much for Maximillian to take. He leapt to his feet. "Maximillian Knights, _assemble_!" he shouted, forgetting that his knights were already gathered around him. Even so, they all stood to join him. "All right, lad! We're with you!" Maximillian declared.

Nash nodded. "Fantastic," he declared, punching one hand into another. "Okay, first things first: about how much help do you think we'll be able to get out Tinto's guardsmen?"

"They'll do fine!" Isabel began, before her expression collapsed. "...Except for the part where this is _completely_ out of their depth. Have you _seen _their guardsmen? Hardly worth mentioning!" she declared loudly, slamming her heavy saber into ground for emphasis.

"Indeed, their pitiful corpses would not even be worth the effort of depositing in the nearest body of water," Matthias added sagely.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Nash said, as their opinion coincided with his own. "I guess we're going to have to do this on our own." He nodded. "Here's what I was thinking..."

**OOO**

President Gustav had set up a temporary command post, just outside the mining blockhouse the kidnappers had holed up in. It had formerly been the office for the adjoining mine system, but when the last veins had given out, it had been abandoned. The practical result was a sturdy building, built like a fort, and only approachable from two ways, neither of them good: wide open plains from the front (easy pickings for the archers posted on the blockhouse's roof) or monster-filled and no doubt booby trapped mine paths in the back.

Gustav lowered his spy glass, and returned from the edge of his tent. Two brigades of the Tinto Army were gathered on either side of the military tent, and to a man the soldiers were restless, matching the mood of their leader. Gustav leaned against the table in the center of the tent, on which a map of the local area had been laid out. "Marlowe, I want you to get the paperwork ready for my resignation," he said quietly.

Marlowe, standing just to Gustav's right, looked up sharply. "What!?" he yelped in surprise. "You can't!"

Gustav held up a hand in a placating manner. "Calm down, calm down. I haven't made _any _decisions. I just... I just need to have the option available... if our..." and here Gustav glanced back at the now menacing blockhouse, "_negotiations _don't go well."

After a few unarmed messengers, the kidnappers had been convinced to meet with President Gustav in exchange for one of their captured comrades. Ostensibly, the meeting was about nailing down the particulars of what the kidnapper knights wanted from Gustav—was Tinto allowed a self-defense force, what constituted 'territorial ambitions'—but everyone knew that it was really about buying Gustav time. Time to do _what_, exactly, was an open question... one that had many in the Republic worried.

Marlowe finally nodded, before moving to a writing table at the back of a tent. "O-Of course, Mr. President. I'll begin right away."

Gustav then turned his attention to the man on his left. "Reed, how're our men doing?" he asked.

The lanky blonde man in a Tinto uniform stirred. "Nervous," Reed admitted. "And worried about Lilly, of course." Reed risked a glance at Gustav's expression. "It would help..." Reed began, looking apprehensive, "if we knew what we were preparing for..." In other words, the men were desperate to know if they were going in weapons drawn (risking Lilly's life) or if they were going to have the dubious honor of being the very last members of the glorious Tinto Army.

Gustav's expression was impassive. "When I'm prepared to tell you, you'll know," he pronounced flatly. His gaze was turned firmly inward.

Reed's expression blanched. "Of course, sir. I'll see to the men," he said quietly, before ducking out the tent as quickly as possible. The fact that the normally decisive Gustav seemed so... _lost_ was unnerving to him.

At this point, Gustav's gaze finally flicked up from the map on the table. "And _you_," Gustav began gruffly, glancing up at the person standing across from him at the table, "Remember, you're here strictly in an advisory capacity, and _only _as a show of good faith to Lepant."

It had taken some smooth talking by Sancho to even get _that _much. Lord Maximillian nodded. "I swear I shan't raise a hand."

That was apparently good enough for Gustav. He grunted noncommittally, before stomping to the back of the tent to see how Marlow was getting along.

Maximillian took the opportunity to edge to the front of the tent, lifting his own spyglass. Sancho leaned over to Maximillian. "Will they be going in now?"

Maximillian pulled free a pocket watch, before nodding. "Yes. It should be just about now."

**OOO**

About a mile away, and higher up in the mountains, Nash, Sierra, Isabel, Mathias, Fred, and Rico gathered around the mouth of an abandoned mineshaft. "Is this the one?" Nash asked.

Sierra nodded, a faraway look in her eyes. "Yes. We can get there through here."

Nash nodded. Normally, using Sierra's advanced senses in such a manner would have chafed at him and felt an awful lot like cheating their way around the problem. But considering that the fake knights had cheated first by kidnapping Lilly, his conscious was quite placated. He turned back to the knights. "Are we ready?"

"I guess..." Isabel began. "But I'm still not sure about this..." she continued, picking disdainfully at the Tinto guardsmen uniform she wore. The frilly-yet-leathery uniform fit awkwardly across her shoulders, as she had insisted on wearing her Maximillian Knight armor on underneath it.

"I must agree with my lady," Mathias added stoically. The uniform fit even _worse _over his full plate mail. The buttons down the front of the uniform were strained to the absolute limit, yet still barely covered the red hawk emblazoned on the front of his armor.

Nash shrugged. "Well, I'm not sure what to tell you," he answered, adjusting his own uniform. "Gustav said he wanted only Tinto guardsmen involved, so we're just going to have to be Tinto guardsmen." He turned his gaze over to Fred and Rico, both dressed in Tinto page uniforms. "And their associated squires, of course."

"And where did you say you got these uniforms?" Isabel asked.

"I didn't," he replied immediately. He wasn't about to share the tale of his 'daring' (and illegal) locker room raid to the legendary Maximillian Knights. Considering the matter resolved, Nash then turned his attention over to Sierra. "And are you ready?"

Sierra still looked distracted, but Nash could tell it was no longer from using her enhanced vampire sense. "I... suppose. Might I have a word though..." she glanced over to the knights, still trying in vain to adjust their uniforms. "...In private?"

Nash shrugged, taking a step closer to her. Both of them then turned their backs to the rest of the knights. "What's wrong? Can you still find a course for us through the mines?"

Sierra waved the question off impatiently. "Obviously. _My _concerns lie elsewhere."

Nash folded his arms. "Such as?"

"Such as I still think you're making a mistake," Sierra declared quietly. "It would be almost nothing for me to handle this, Nash."

Nash shifted uncomfortably. "You heard Gustav—he doesn't want anyone but Tinto soldiers involved, for whatever it is that's about to go down."

"So? You seem to be quite ready to break that rule," she countered.

Nash refused to take the bait. "I'm just saying it would look pretty suspicious if all the bad guys suddenly fell over from bite marks on their necks." He thumbed his scarf, and managed a half-hearted effort at a smile. "I'd hate to think I'd let you go and ruin your good name in Tinto. I mean, this has to be one of few places where they're actually _excited _to see you, fangs and all."

His effort at humor fell on deaf ears. "Is that the _real _reason you won't let me handle this, Nash?" Sierra demanded.

He squirmed a bit under her gaze. "Well, uh, okay... No matter how powerful you are, they've got Lilly and I'm not sure you can stop them all before they hurt her... at least not without leveling the building in the process." It wasn't _exactly _a lie...

Even so, Sierra saw right through it, and her expression hardened. "I'm still waiting, Nash."

Finally, he cast his eyes down. "Besides... I feel like I need to do this on my own."

Despite all his protestations otherwise, Sierra felt the waves of guilt radiating off of him. It was that, more than any flimsy oath Gustav had forced upon them, that bound her. Besides, even if she would never tell him directly, she had faith in Nash's abilities. "All right," she conceded. "Let's begin, shall we?" she asked, before transforming into a bat.

"D-did she just turn into a bat!?" Isabel suddenly shouted behind them, her weapon drawn.

"My Lady, stand back!" Mathias called, taking a defensive stance in front of Isabel.

Nash and Bat-Sierra froze, exchanging looks. "Whoops..." Nash murmured. Bat-Sierra rolled her eyes, which was adorable on her tiny bat face.

One standoff and one hasty explanation later, Nash (carrying a torch), Isabel, Mathias, Fred, and Rico (also carrying a torch) followed Bat-Sierra through the twisting tunnels of the mining net work. "I'm not going to lie to any of you," Nash commented as they traveled, "but this mine design makes absolutely no sense."

"I believe that the majority of side tunnels were to follow veins as they were discovered," Mathias assessed clinically.

"Well, okay, I could see that for some of these tunnels, but the rest of them look like they were just randomly started and go nowhere," Nash protested.

"I think the other reason was because the Miner's Association was trying to keep their unionized workers _working_, even if they were just digging around in circles," Rico chirped from the rear of the line. Leave it to studious Rico to already know the ins and outs of local history.

Nash's expression turned thoughtful: hadn't Gustav been president of the Miner's Association before he was running the country? "Okay, _that _I can understand."

It was at that point that Bat-Sierra froze, her wings flapping faster in what Nash presumed was agitation. Indeed, within moments, she had transmogrified back into her human form. "Something's wrong," she declared summarily.

"Is it those fake knights?!" Isabel asked eagerly, her heavy saber already off her shoulder in a surprisingly short amount of time.

Sierra shook her head. "Slightly bigger than that."

Before anyone could ask what she meant, the tunnel they were in began to shake wildly. Before their startled eyes, a massive stone monstrosity burst forth from the tunnel floor. "What _is _that!?" Nash demanded, a pair of blazing arrow scrolls flicking to his fingers in seconds.

"Cave golem," Sierra said quietly, one of her throwing knives sliding into her hand. "The enmity of miners killed in cave-ins builds up in some of the more magical ores down here, and occasionally they just... get up." As Nash's mind raced to comprehend that explanation, almost as an afterthought Sierra added: "We're running out of time—take this tunnel to its end, and that will put you at the rear of the blockhouse. Lilly Pendragon should be on the top floor."

"I'm not going to let you fight that thing _alone_!" Nash protested, awkwardly putting away one of the rune scrolls while he tried to draw his 'borrowed' Tinto guardsmen sword at the same time.

"We'll stay with her!" Fred suddenly volunteered, racing to stand next to Sierra.

Rico, naturally, trundled only a half step behind him. "Yeah! We can handle some dumb old rock monster!"

"Fred, Rico, you do your oaths proud!" Isabel called, before she and Mathias rushed to Nash. "Come, Sir Nash. She'll be in good hands!"

"What? No! I'm not letting Sierra and a pair of _kids _take on a giant rock monster!" he protested, even as Isabel and Mathias clamped their hands firmly on either of his biceps and dragged him down the corridor.

The last glimpse Nash had of Sierra was her looking at him confidently. We'll be fine, she mouthed. It didn't rid Nash of all his doubts, but it was enough to get him to stop struggling against the pair of Maximillian Knights pulling him down the mine tunnel.

**OOO**

"It is... a bit small than I expected," Mathias decided, once the blockhouse was in view.

"Even so, I imagine it'll be packed to the teeth with these guys," Nash answered, kneeling and peering through a spyglass.

"Good," Isabel declared. "I'm spoiling for a good fight."

The fake knights were confident, but not completely stupid: a pair of guards were stationed at the rear of the blockhouse, on the off chance anyone actually managed to find their way through the complex den of mines behind them. This, however, was not something that Nash wasn't expecting. "You two ready to see some of my exclusive tricks of the trade?" he asked, before reaching into his cloak for a wind of sleep scroll. When he didn't get a response, he glanced back... to see that Isabel and Mathias were no longer behind him. "Hey, where did you—" he turned back towards the blockhouse, only to see the two of them creeping toward the compound.

Nash wanted to demand what the hell they thought they were doing, but that soon became pretty obvious. In one smooth motion, Mathias rose from his crouch and hurled his spear with all his might. At the same time, Isabel took off at a full clip. The spear landed vertically, between the two guards. And before they could even process what was going on—let alone raise a warning cry—Isabel lunged for the spear, grabbed on with her hands, and swung around by the spear's shaft. The twirling kick dropped both of the knights, and they didn't look like they were about to get up again.

"I take it you two have practiced that before?" Nash asked as he pulled up to them, as Isabel dismounted and Mathias single-handedly freed his spear from the ground.

The two exchanged looks. "No. Why?" Isabel asked, honestly confused.

Nash blinked. "I, uh..." He coughed. "No reason," he answered, as he self-consciously tucked his wind of sleep scroll back into his cloak. "Let's get to the second floor, shall we?" he offered instead, glad for the distraction of aiming his grappling hook.

It would only be a matter of time before the knights inside discovered two of their own unconscious out the back. No time to waste trying to creep around inside—Nash figured zipping up to a second floor window of the partially-in and partially-just outside of the mine blockhouse was the best option for them. The nearest window led the three of them into a long since abandoned bunk room.

"So far so good," Nash said quietly, as he led Isabel and Mathias towards the room's door. "I think we might even—"

He broke off in mid-sentence as he swung open the door, only to come face to face with two of the black knights. "Damn!" he shouted, slamming the door closed again. This didn't stop one of the knights from slamming his blade into it, while the other shouted for reinforcements.

Thinking fast, Nash slammed his boot into the door, knocking it off its (admittedly shoddy) hinges, and right into the pair of black knights. Before he could even ask them to, Isabel and Mathias had zipped out either side of the door, and slammed the butts of their weapons into the thick metal of the knight's oversized helmets.

"That takes care of these two," Nash began, hastily scanning the hallway for any other signs of life. He didn't see anything, but down the staircase just off to his left, he _heard _more of the black knights coming. "But here come the rest..."

"We'll make a diversion downstairs!" Isabel declared suddenly, before hurling herself down the steps with reckless abandon.

"Secure the girl while we teach these loathsome creatures the meaning of true honor!" Mathias added. "We will rejoin you when we have finished down below!" he promised before plunging after Isabel into the chaos below.

Before Nash could protest, Mathias too was gone, leaving him alone on the second floor, with nothing but the sounds of battle echoing up from below. "Shit..." Nash cursed to himself, drawing his belt knife. "And everything had been going so well," he muttered as he hurried along the narrow halls on the second floor.

It wasn't long before he found himself in a large common area. Judging from the discarded food and drink, it had been inhabited only until recently. More importantly, Lilly Pendragon—bound, gagged, and unconscious—was propped up in one corner. Nash sheathed his knife, taking a conspiratorial look around the area. "Lilly. Lilly!" he whispered as he crept forward. "Can you—"

And the next thing Nash knew, something slammed into the back of his head, and the floor was rushing up to meet him.

**OOO**

As his senses hazily came back, it became pretty obvious pretty quickly that his hands had been bound behind his back. _At least they didn't bother to gag me_.

"So, you are awake. Finally. I didn't think my man had hit you _that _hard."

"You'd be surprised," Nash answered, squinting into the sudden light. He had been planted right in the center of the common room, staring up at the bay windows that dominated the far wall. Lilly was still unconscious in the corner. Four of the fake knights stood near each of the corners, and all watched him warily.

Most importantly of all, directly before him, the leader of the fake knights (and he must have been the leader, because Nash would never forget that far too well manicured beard) shrugged, leaning against a table right against the windows. "Ah well, good help and all that," he said airily. "I'm sure you can relate. Those two others you were with—we've cornered them into one of the storerooms on the lower floor." He favored Nash with a smile. "You know, in case you were expecting help to come barging in."

Nash glared.

"I must admit, though," the leader continued conversationally, "I never expected a group of lowly Tinto guardsmen to make it this far," and there was a loaded look in the look in the leader's eyes as he watched for Nash's reaction.

When Nash didn't respond, he shrugged. "Not in the mood for a good chat?" the leader asked. "Fine. Allow me to make my introduction then—I am Sir Zepel Vontage, Knight of the Ebony Moon, Defender of the Grasslands, and a man who is most _displeased _at Gustav's continued oath-breaking."

At this, Zepel marched menacingly over towards Lilly, drawing his sword. "Did he really think I wouldn't hesitate to harm his daughter? Maybe sending him one of her pretty little fingers will make him negotiate in good faith from on out. Pretty, pretty girl, I'm afraid Daddy didn't love you enough to keep you in one—" Zepel's voice came fast, the words almost stacking up on one another. The man sounded practically... psychotic.

"No, no, _stop_! Gustav didn't order us here, we came here on our own!" Nash shouted immediately.

All at once, Zepel's madness seemed to calm. He sheathed his sword, and turned back to Nash with a smile. "Oh, so you _can _talk. I thought you might." As Zepel eased back against the table again, it was with a start that Nash realized that he had been duped—the crazy psycho voice had just been a ruse to egg Nash on.

Nash narrowed his eyes—it wouldn't do to underestimate this man. Whatever else he may be, he seemed to be a master at manipulating people. "Now that I _am_ talking," Nash said aloud, "I'm afraid that you might not like the things I say."

"Like how and why you four—who _clearly _aren't actually Tinto soldiers—decided to come racing out here to save that old bloated fool's daughter?" Zepel asked.

"I had something else in mind," Nash countered evenly.

"Oh, how exciting. Like what?" Zepel asked, amused, but still feeling as if he had total control over the situation.

"Like the fact that I know for certain that you're no Ebony Moon knights."

Zepel's expression twitched, but never broke, although his smile quickly withered. "Now that's not fair," Zepel began, in a placating tone. "What _is _an Ebony Moon Knight but a man of the sword dedicated to above all else the protection of the Grasslands?"

"An _honorable_ man, for starters," Nash spat out. "And more importantly, a man officially recognized and hailed by all the remaining free tribes in Grasslands as fighting honorably _for _Grasslands." Nash shrugged, which conveniently hid the motion as he slipped a knife from his sleeve into his hand. "So, sorry, pal, but only one man in the last several decades has gotten _that _honor, and that ain't you _or _your cronies here." As he held Zepel's gaze, Nash slowly began to try and saw through his bonds.

"_Fine_," Zepel conceded after a moment, "fine, we may not be _true _Knights of the Ebony Moon, but we may as well be: once the rest of Grasslands sees the stand we're taking here today, they'll rise up against Tinto withus!" He spread his arms. "By that point, it won't matter if we appointed _ourselves_, because they'll see the greater good we're serving here!"

"Greater good? You kidnapped an innocent child!"

"Only because Tinto is such a threat!" Zepel argued. "Gustav isn't like the ironheads," he continued, unconsciously using the Grasslands slang term for Zexen and its soldiers, "The ironheads will cause a fuss every now and then, but ever since Brass Castle was built, they're more than happy just to laze behind its walls. But Gustav... No, men like Gustav grab with both hands."

He swung around to face the window, out across the field where Gustav's command tent was. "They just want to keep grabbing and taking until there's nothing left." He glanced back over his shoulder to Nash. "Why do you think Tinto is so desperate to expand? Because they were too greedy, mined out all their precious ores, and now have less and less to live on."

"Sounds to me that's just a miner's life," Nash countered drolly, before realizing he was in the uncomfortable position of _defending _Gustav.

"With any luck," Zepel resumed, turning back to the window and apparently choosing to ignore Nash's comment, "we're not too late. With any luck, Gustav's over there right now, dismantling all his little plans for empire." He bowed his head. "And if not, then with any luck, there's still time for a united Grasslands strike to crush this puissant little country before it makes its move."

"What, you're talking about starting a war now, too?!" Nash snapped.

"If it's _war _that's necessary to stop this ambitious little man in his tracks, then yes, so be it!" Zepel shouted, turning back to face Nash. "If it's war that will stop Tinto from years of clawing its way across Grasslands, then yes, _war _itis!"He slammed one gauntleted hand into the other. "Decisive action, _now_, before he becomes a real threat." Zepel's eyes narrowed. "You're Harmonian. Your superiors must be worried now too, right?"

Nash's eyes narrowed. "That's beside the point," he muttered, willing his knife to cut faster.

"But it _is _the point." Zepel's expression turned arch. "I recognize you—you were the one skulking about the presidential palace in the middle of the night. A Harmonian spy... Or do you still claim you're nothing but a simple Tinto guardsman?"

Nash's eyes narrowed, at which point Zepel smirked. "So, you must understand where I'm coming from: use any tactics to keep the peace, right?"

But by this point Nash no longer cared if his cover was intact. "Not if it involves a _child_!" he thundered, his anger boiling over.

Zepel expression turned deadly serious, and his blade was again drawn. "Fine. It looks like you're just like all the rest." Zepel advanced on the prone Nash. "Gutless, and another obstacle in my way that needs to be removed." He raised his blade to strike, and—

**OOO**

"Something's wrong," Maximillian declared, lowering the spyglass.

"Are you sure?" Sancho asked.

"They should have been out by now..." Maximillian explained gravely. "There should be some commotion in that building, confusion." He folded his arms. "Something's gone wrong," he repeated.

Sancho twisted one of his polishing rags in agitation. "Should we tell Gustav? Organize another party?" he asked.

Maximillian didn't respond for a long moment. His expression was hard to read. After a moment, Sancho released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. "My Lord?" Sancho pressed.

Maximillian soon drew himself up to his full height. "No. No time for that. Only one chance." He glanced at his faithful squire, a smile creasing his weathered face—but only for a moment. "Ready my mount." He turned his attention back to imposing blockhouse, and the fake knights within. "Justice must be served."

Sancho quickly set about the task but there was unease in him, and he kept glancing back to his lord as if he might vanish at any moment. Unlike Maximillian's many other exhortations over the years, you see, there was a terrible quietness to his words.

Gustav only noticed Maximillian's actions as Maximillian's faithful horse reared near the front of the tent. "What—?" he began, only to see Maximillian swing aboard his mount in what was, for an old man, one surprisingly smooth motion. Gustav's face contorted in confusion with a touch of fear. "Maximillian! Maximillian, what in blazing hell are you _doing_!?" he demanded, stomping out of the tent after them.

But Maximillian was already on his way.

**OOO**

Zepel advanced on Nash. Nash's knife still hadn't cut through the rope. _This isn't going well_...

"Zepel!" one of Zepel's guards near the windows suddenly shouted. "Zepel! Someone is attacking from the front!"

"What!?" Zepel demanded, whirling. And then Nash, Zepel, and Zepel's fake knights all turned to watch out the window.

There, riding out across the fields from the unmoving Tinto lines, came a lone rider on a white horse. At first it was hard to make out the details. Hoof beast sounding like distant thunder, even inside the blockhouse. The rider was an older man, wearing polished if old and battered armor. White hair streamed out behind him.

And then, with a start, Zepel and his 'knights' recognized just _who _was on that horse: Lord Maximillian.

Maximillian, in one smooth motion, drew his saber and pointed it defiantly forward. "Maximillian Knights.... CHARGE!!" he shouted, his wavering voice carrying easily over the field.

And on Maximillian's face, there was the devil-may-care expression of a joyful man in his element. In that second, Nash (and—he suspected—every single one of the fake Ebony Moon Knights) realized what a _real _knight looked like.

It was Zepel who finally broke the trance. "Arrows.... Arrows! Fire the arrows! Stop him!" Zepel shouted. He slammed a gauntleted fist down on the table. "Kill him!" he screamed.

From the roof of the blockhouse came wave after wave of arrows. But Maximillian would not be stopped, and they were all batted away by weapon or shield. And the entire time, Maximillian grinned, never wavered, charged defiantly forward.

He was drawing closer now, already halfway across the field. His horse would never fit through the blockhouse entrance, the doors were barred from the inside, but Zepel and his fake knights didn't stop to think about that. They couldn't—so transfixed by the image of this lone old man heedlessly charging through a hail of arrows.

So transfixed, they failed to notice as Nash finally finished sawing through his restraints. So transfixed, they failed to notice as Isabel and Mathias finally burst into the room, weapons at the ready. It was only then that Zepel turned to face them, shouting a warning to his men.

And then everything happened at once.

**OOO**

"Whoah, whoah," Maximillian said softly, as he drew his faithful steed to a halt just in front of the blockhouse.

If Maximillian was surprised to see the massive front doors of the blockhouse swing open from the inside, he didn't show it. He simply watched with almost detached interest, breathing heavily.

The first thing that he saw was Lilly Pendragon—free of her restraints, tears in her eyes, and still in her nightclothes—racing out through the doors. She rushed out across the field without sparing a backwards glance to Maximillian. About halfway across the field, there was a great shout, and old Gustav darted out of his command tent. The two met in a massive hug only seconds later, just as a great cheer went up through the ranks of Tinto's soldiers.

A familiar floppy brown hat caught Maximillian's eye next. "My lord!" Sancho shouted, speeding across the field on foot. "My lord!" he repeated, as he pulled up next to Maximillian and his mount. "That was amazing!"

Maximillian didn't respond. Instead, looked down at his armor, shifting slightly in his saddle. "It feels different than I expected..." he said softly.

"My lord?" Sancho asked, glancing behind him as Nash, Isabel, and Mathias exited the blockhouse.

Maximillian shifted again, lowering his shield for the first time. It was then that Sancho saw the arrow protruding from just under Maximillian's left shoulder, having punched through a seam in his armor. "Lord Maximillian!" Sancho exclaimed, as Maximillian tottered from the saddle.

It was then that Nash and the others realized something was wrong. "Uncle!" Isabel shouted, dropping her saber and rushing forward, Mathias at her side.

"Grandfather?" Fred called, as he and Rico stumbled out of the darkness of the mines. His eyes widened as he watched Mathias and Sancho gently lower Maximillian to the ground. "Grandfather!" he shouted, even as Rico grabbed a hold of his shoulder, and the two rushed over.

Nash, at a loss, hung back.

Sancho tore Maximillian's shield from his arm, gently easing Maximillian back to get a better look at the wound. "Hold on, hold on, hold on," Sancho repeated over and over like a mantra.

Sierra appeared then, dusting what looked like stone fragments from her cloak. As her eyes fell on the scene before her she frowned, walking quickly to Nash. "Nash, what's—" she began, only to be silenced by Nash's slow head shake. Her gaze then flicked back to the enfolding drama around Maximillian. "Oh... Oh my," was all she said.

"Y-you'll be right as rain in no time, Master," Sancho was trying to assure, even as he fumbled at the straps holding Maximillian's damaged chest plate in place. "No time at all..."

Maximillian shook his head sadly, and placed a hand on Sancho's, stopping the work. "Not... Not this time, my loyal friend. Not..." he then coughed thickly. When the coughing fit had subsided, Maximillian looked up to see Fred and Rico and Isabel and Mathias all looking down at him sadly. "But... I think... that's all right. Perhaps, Sancho," Maximillian wheezed, "Perhaps it's time to step aside for the next generation." He began to cough again.

"Master?" Sancho asked, confused.

"Yes..." Maximillian continued, as if he hadn't heard Sancho. "Yes..." he repeated, as his gaze darted from one face to another: inexperienced and eager Fred, looking ridiculous in the black armor that was clearly too large for him; devoted and dependable Rico, a towel to polish Fred's armor at the ready; fierce and vibrant Isabel, trying her best to still look tough, as if she could stave off death through sheer force of will; impassive and immovable Mathias, silently supporting his beloved Isabel.

"Yes!" Maximillian declared, his voice paradoxically filled with more even conviction as his voice weakened. "I think the next generation is going... to do.... just fine......." Maximillian closed his eyes, a bemused smile on his face.

"Sir?" Sancho asked, shaking Maximillian slightly. He didn't respond. "Sir!? Sir!!"

**OOO**

They had a hasty funeral in Tinto; though Maximillian's body would be buried on the family estates just north of Moravia, the surviving knights needed the closure. Gustav chipped in, making it an official state funeral—he viewed it as the least he could do. Even Sierra seemed to be affected, remaining respectfully silent for the entire procession, watching behind a very unlike her black veil.

It was while Nash and Sierra watched the funeral procession—winding its way down the twisted and narrow streets of Tinto—that Sierra sighed. "All this pomp and circumstance for someone who isn't Gustav seems a little out of character..." Sierra explained quietly at Nash's raised eyebrow. "Does Gustav know something? Did Lilly say anything?" Sierra asked.

Nash shook his head. "Lilly doesn't remember many details—she was out for most of the fight. All she recalls is waking up and seeing some soldiers in Tinto uniforms breaking in and bashing the bad guys over the head."

"Well, at least _that _went according to plan," Sierra said thoughtfully.

Nash agreed. "And as a result, rumors are spreading that Gustav ordered the assault to rescue Lilly. And since none of the guardsmen involved in the strike—in other words, _us_—are coming forward to dispute that, the rumors persist. On the other hand, Gustav may not be squashing the rumors, but he isn't claiming credit, either." He shrugged. "That's honestly more than I expected from him."

The black draped wagon bearing Maximillian's body—the four remaining Maximillian Knights attending it—began to pull past.

"Whether or not Gustav eventually gets credit for the idea, though, no one can deny that Maximillian's charge distracted the bad guys at exactly the right time. No matter what we did—or, officially, _didn't _do—his charge still saved the day."

"I suppose you're right," Sierra said softly.

"And what a charge to go out on...!" Nash finished softly as he watched the carriage drive on out through town, a slight smile playing over his lips at the memory.


End file.
